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CLASSICAL LITERATURE 



COMPENDIUM 



OF 



CLASSICAL LITERATURE 



COMPRISING 



CHOICE EXTRACTS, TRANSLATED, 

FEOM THE BEST 

GREEK AND ROMAN WRITERS, 

WITH BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES, ACCOUNTS OF THEIR WORKS, 

AND ,*■ 

NOTES DIRECTING TO THE BEST EDITIONS AND TRANSLATIONS. 



Part I.— FROM HOMER TO LONGINUS. 
Part II.— FROM PLAUTUS TO BOETHIUS. 




BY 

charles dexter Cleveland, 

FORMERLY PROFESSOR OF THE LATIN AND GREEK LANGUAGES IN DICKINSON 

COLLEGE, CARLISLE, PENN., AND OF THE LATIN LANGUAGE AND 

LITERATURE IN THE NEW YORK UNIVERSITY. 



PHILADELPHIA: 

E. C. & J. BIDDLE & CO., No. 508 MINOR STREET. 

1861. 






Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1S61, hy 

CHARLES DEXTER CLEVELAND, 

in the Clerk's Office of the District Conrt of the United States for the Eastern District 
of Pennsylvania. 



2-0 1 



V 



PHILADELPHIA I 
COLLINS, PRINTER, 



PREFACE. 



This book completes the course upon Ancient and Modern 
Literature, which I originally designed ; and as it has been 
prepared upon a plan similar to that of my works on English 
and American Literature, little need be said by way of preface. 
I may remark, however, that this is even more the offspring of 
necessity than either of my other works ; for though a general 
knowledge of English literature could have been gleaned from 
a number of books that were in use before my first work ap- 
peared, yet I know of none, now accessible as school books, 
which would give the youthful student any adequate idea 
of the Greek and Roman writers. It is, therefore, in my 
view, a work very much needed ; for as far as my observation 
goes, the scholars who leave our English High, and Normal 
Schools, and our best private Seminaries, come out not only 
very ignorant of the character, works, and style of the classic 
authors, but often even of their very names. 

The classical scholar will, of course, see at a glance that I 
have not attempted to give all the Greek and Roman writers, 
but those only who are by common consent considered the 
best. Still, in what I have here attempted, many errors and 
omissions will doubtless be detected by those whose lives are 
devoted to this subject ; and if any one will point them out, 
and will write to me, expressing freely in what way he may think 

1* 



VI PREFACE. 

the next edition (which will be stereotyped) may be improved, 
I shall feel under very great obligations to him for such kind- 
ness. It is now more than a quarter of a century since the 
Greek and Latin classics were the chief subjects of my studies, 
and though, in the mean time, I have kept up my acquaintance 
with them as much as my other avocations would allow, yet I 
well know how great an advance classical literature has made 
during that period, and therefore I feel conscious that in many 
points I may be in the rear. 

I will only add that I can desire no greater favor to be 
shown to this my latest, than has been so signally bestowed 
upon my previous works. 

CHARLES DEXTER CLEVELAND. 

Philadelphia, March 29, 1861. 



The following are the chief books to which I have been 
indebted in the preparation of my work, independent of the 
editions and translations of the authors themselves. 

Smith's Dictionary of Greek and Roman Biography and Mythology, 
3 vols. 8vo. 

Smith's Dictionary of Greek and Roman Antiquities, 1 vol. 8vo. 

Classical Journal, published by Valpy, London, 40 vols. 8vo. 

Classical Museum, published by Taylor & Co., London, 7 vols. 8vo. 

Butler's History of Philosophy, 2 vols. 8vo. 

Enfield's History of Philosophy, 2 vols. 8vo. 

Tennemann's History of Philosophy, 1 vol. 12mo. 

Browne's History of Greek Literature, 1 vol. 8vo. 

Browne's History of Roman Literature, 1 vol. 8vo. 

Grote's History of Greece, 12 vols. 12mo. 

Peter's Specimens of the Poets and Poetry of Greece and Rome, 1 
vol. 8vo. 

Elton's Specimens of the Classic Poets, 3 vols. 8vo. 

Mills' Poets and Poetry of the Ancient Greeks, 1 vol. 8vo. 

Burges' Greek Anthology, 1 vol. 12mo. 

Baker's Medulla Poetarum Romanorum, 2 vols. 

Muller's History of Greek Literature, 3 vols. 

History of Roman and Greek Literature, by Arnold and others, from 
the Encyclopaedia Metropolitana, 2 vols. 12mo. 

Fiske's Eschenburg's Manual of Classical Literature, 1 vol. 8vo. 

Urquhart's Commentaries on Classical Learning, 1 vol. 8vo. 

Dunlap's History of Roman Literature, 2 vols. 8vo. 

Edinburgh and Quarterly Reviews. 

Frazer's Magazine. 

Blackwood's Magazine, &c. &c. 

C. D. C. 



ALPHABETICAL LIST OF AUTHORS. 





Page 




Page 


JElian . 


331 


Homer 


. 25 


iEsCHINES . 


241 


Horace 


. 453 


iEsCHYLUS . 


84 


Is.eus . ... 


. 214 


ALCiEUS 


66 


Isocrates 


. 210 


Anacreon . 


74 


Justin . 


. 604 


Apollonius Rhodius 


271 


Juvenal 


. 588 


Archilochus 


62 


Livy . 


. 471 


Aristophanes 


176 


Longinus 


. 333 


Aristotle . 


216 


Lucan 


. 519 


Arrian 


312 


LUCIAN 


. 317 


Aulus Gellius 


598 


Lucretius . 


. 365 


Bias .... 


. 72 


Lysias 


. 204 


Bion .... 


. 266 


Martial 


. 560 


BOETHIUS 


. 608 


Meleager . 


. 285 


CiESAR 


403 


Menander . 


. 250 


Callimachus 


263 


Moschus 


. 275 


Catullus 


. 412 


Nepos . 


. 371 


Chilo .... 


. 70 


Ovid . 


. 484 


Cicero 


377 


Periander . 


. 73 


Cleanthes . 


. 261 


Persius 


. 502 


Cornelius Nepos . 


371 


Pindar 


. 101 


Curtius 


556 


PlTTACUS 


. 71 


Cleobulus . 


72 


Plato 


. 188 


Demosthenes 


228 


Plautus 


. 343 


DlODORUS SlCULUS 


291 


Pliny, the Elder 


. 526 


Dionysius Haltcarnassus 


289 


Pliny, the Younger 


. 535 


Epictetus . 


294 


Plutarch . 


. 303 


Euripides . 


137 


Polybius 


. 280 


Florus 


567 


Propertius . 


. 449 


Herodotus . 


145 


QUINTILIAN . 


. 579 


Hesiod 


. 57 


Quintds Curtius . 


. 556 



ALPHABETICAL LIST OF AUTHORS. 



Salltjst 








Page 
. 416 


Terence 


Page 
. 356 


Sappho 








122 


Thales 


. 68 


Seneca 








506 


Theocritus . 


. 253 


Simonides 








80 


Teeophrastus 


. 247 


Socrates 








. 109 


Thuctdides . 


. 153 


Solon . 








. 69 


TlBULLUS 


. 444 


Sophocles 








126 


Tyrt^us 


. 63 


Statius 








551 


Velleius Paterculus 


. 498 


Suetonius 








546 


Virgil 


. 425 


Tacitus 








571 


Xenophon . 


. 164 



CONTENTS 



Homer. 
Biographical Sketch, 25 
The Iliad, 29 
Argument of the Iliad, 29 
The Odyssey, 31 
Opening Argument of the Iliad, 33 
Minerva arming herself for Battle, 34 
Parting of Hector and Andromache, 34 
The Race of Man, 37 
Council of the Gods, 37 
Night Scene, 38 
Hatefulness of War, 39 
Achilles' Abhorrence of False- 
hood, 39 
Showers of Arrows compared to 

Flakes of Snow, 39 
Priam Begging of Achilles the 

Dead Body of his Son Hector, 39 
Helen's Lamentation over Hec- 
tor's Body, 40 
Hospitality, 41 
Slavery, 41 
Ulysses and his Companions in 

the Cave of Polyphemus, 41 
Ulysses discovering himself to 

his Father, 47 

The Introduction of Penelope, 51 

The last Appearance of Penelope, 54 



Hesiod. 
Biographical Sketch, 
Pandora's Box, 
Retributions of Providence, 
Winter, 
Cerberus, 
Honest Poverty, 
Battle of the Giants, 

Archilochus. 
Biographical Sketch, 
Patience under Suffering, 
Equanimity, 
The Turns of Fortune, 



Tyrt^eus. 

Biographical Sketch, 63 
In Commendation of Military 

Valor, 64 

The Hero— The Recreant, 65 

AlCjETJS. 

Biographical Sketch, 66 

The Spoils of War, 67 

Convivial, 67 

What Constitutes a State, 68 

The Seven Wise Men op Greece. 



THALES. 




Biographical Sketch, 


68 


Maxims, 


69 


SOLON. 




Biographical Sketch, 


69 


Some of his Apothegms, 


69 


The Constitution of Athens, 


70 


Remembrance after Death, 


70 


True Happiness, 


70 


CHILO. 




Biographical Sketch, 


70 


Maxims, 


71 


PITTACUS. 




Biographical Sketch, 


71 


Precepts, 


71 


BIAS. 




Biographical Sketch, 


72 


His Sententious Wisdom, 


72 


CLEOBULUS. 




Biographical Sketch, 


72 


Prudential Maxims, 


73 


PERIANDER. 




Biographical Sketch, 


73 


Moral Sentences, 


73 


Anacreon. 




Biographical Sketch, 


74 


Cure for Care, 


74 


Gold, 


75 


The Grasshopper, 


75 



Xll 



CONTENTS. 



Cupid and the Bee, 

Return of Spring, 

The Carrier Pigeon, 

When Spring Adorns the Day 

Scene, 
The Rose, 

SlMONIDES. 

Biographical Sketch, 

Lamentation of Danae, 

The Uncertainty of Life, 

Virtue, 

Another version of the same, 

Certainty of Death, 

The Four Best Things, 



-aSSCHYLUS. 

Biographical Sketch, 

Description of the Battle of Sala- 
mis, 

The Sacrifice of Iphigenia, 

The Name Helen, 

Description of Helen, 

Lament for the Loss of Helen, 

Orestes about to Murder his Mo- 
ther, 

Retribution for Sin, 

Goodness and Wickedness pro- 
duce their likes, 

Prometheus' Invocation, 

Prometheus' Proud Defiance of 
Jupiter, 

Pindar. 
Biographical Sketch, 
Future Retribution, 
The Sailing of the Argo, 
The Power of Music, 
Mount JStna, 
Prayer for Benevolence, 
The Infant Hercules, 
To the Sun under an Eclipse, 

Socrates. 
Biographical Sketch, 
Conversation with Aristodemus 

on the Goodness of the Deity, 
Conversation with Glaukon on 

the Qualifications necessary for 

a Ruler, 
Conclusion of Socrates' Defence, 

Sappho. 
Biographical Sketch, 
Hymn to Venus, 
Another version of the same, 
A Youth to his Beloved, 



76 | The Immortality of Literary 

77 | Fame, 126 
77 i Love, 126 



79 



Sophocles. 

Biographical Sketch, 126 

Creon — Antigone — Chorus, 130 

A Chariot Race, 132 

Human Life, 134 

Creon— ffidipus, 135 

Euripides. 

Biographical Sketch, 137 

A Scene from Alcestis, 139 
From a Chorus in the Alcestis, 142 
From a Chorus in the Hecuba, 142 

An Enchanting Vale, 142 

True Liberty, 143 

First Love, - 143 

Opening of the Medea, 143 



Herodotus. 
Biographical Sketch, 145 

The Crocodile, 148 

Early Circumnavigation of Af- 
rica, 149 
Artabanus dissuades Xerxes from 
his proposed Expedition against 
Greece, 150 
95 Xerxes reviews his Forces at 

Abydos, 152 

98 



101 

103 
104 
104 
105 
106 
106 
108 



109 



Thucydides. 
Biographical Sketch, 
The Natural Consequences 

War, 
The Love of Country, 
The Plague at Athens, 

Xenophon. 
Biographical Sketch, 
Cyrus Taking Babylon, 
The Death of Cyrus, 
The Choice of Hercules, 



of 



153 

157 
158 
160 



164 
167 
170 
172 



Aristophanes, 

113 Biographical Sketch, 176 

Scenes from the Clouds, 178 

J A Parabasis from "The Birds," ]86 

11 ' The Blessings of Peace, 187 

Plato. 

i Biographical Sketch, 188 

122 The Perfect Beauty, 191 

123 Socrates' Views of a Future State 

124 —His Death, 193 

125 Conclusion of Plato's Gorgias, 199 



CONTENTS. 



X1U 



Lysias. 

Biographical Sketch, 204 

The Battle of Salamis, 205 

The Administration of the Thirty- 
Tyrants, 206 
An Honorable Death preferable 
to an Inglorious Life, 209 

Isockates. 
Biographical Sketch, 210 

Physical contrasted with Mental 

Power, 211 

The Power of Eloquence, 212 

War against Persia, 213 

The Superiority of Athens to the 

rest of Greece, 213 

Is^us. 
Biographical Sketch, 214 

The Estate of Dicseogenes, 215 

Aristotle. 
Biographical Sketch, 216 

Liberality, 219 

Prodigality and Avarice, 220 

The Foundations of Public Hap- 
piness, 221 
Origin of Poetry, 222 
Two Kinds of Poetry, 223 
The Honorable, 224 
What Things are Pleasant, 225 
The Dispositions consequent on 
Wealth, 227 

Demosthenes. 
Biographical Sketch, 228 

Philip and the Athenians, 231 

Measures to be adopted to resist 

Philip, 233 

The Athenians of a former age 

described, 235 

Exordium of the Oration on the 



Menander. 

Biographical Sketch, 250 
Ridicule of the Pagan Ceremonies 

of Lustration, 251 

Life, 251 

Nature of Envy, 252 

True Use of Riches, 252 

Riches no Bar to Care, 252 

Know Thyself and Others, 252 

Bad Temper, 253 

Theocritus. 

Biographical Sketch, 253 

The Young Hercules, 254 

Thyrsis and the Goatherd, 256 
Character of Ptolemy Philadel- 

phus. 259 

The Honey Stealer, 259 

Epitaph on Eurymedon, 259 

The Distaff, 260 



Cleanthes. 
Biographical Sketch, 
Hymn to Jupiter, 



261 
261 



Callimachus. 

Biographical Sketch, 263 

The Virgin's offering to Venus, 263 

Another version of the same, 264 

The Bath of Minerva, 264 

Bion. 

Biographical Sketch, 266 

Lament for Adonis, 266 

Hymn to the Evening Star, 269 

The Teacher taught, 269 

Cupid and the Fowler, 270 

Apollonius Rhodius. 
Biographical Sketch, 271 
Interview between Jason and Me- 
dea, 271 



Crown, 


238 


Moschus. 




Address to iEschines, 


239 


Biographical Sketeh, 


275 


Public Spirit of the Athenians, 


240 


The Contrast, 


275 






Love a Fugitive, 


276 


JSschines. 




Alpheus and Arethusa, 


277 


Biographical Sketch, 


241 


Monody on the Death of Bion, 


277 


Practices of the early Athenians 








in bestowing Public Honors, 


242 


POLYBIUS. 




Demosthenes vehemently denoun 




Biographical Sketch, 


280 


cedj 


244 


The Teachings of History, 


282 






Battle between Elephants, 


283 


Theophrastus. 








Biographical Sketch, 


247 


Meleager. 




On Flattery, 


248 


Biographical Sketch, 


285 


On Superstition, 
2 


249 


The Gifts of the Graces, 


285 



XIV 


CONTENTS. 




The Garland, 


285 


Arriak. 




The Vow, 


286 


Biographical Sketch, 


312 


Sale of Cupid, 


286 


Tomb of Cyrus the Great, 


313 


Epitaph on a Young Bride, 


287 


Character of Alexander, 


314 


The Lover's Message, 


287 






Music and Beauty, 


288 


Lucian. 




Spring, 


288 


Biographical Sketch, 


317 



Dionysius Halicarnassus. 
Biographical Sketch, 289 

Character of Numa, 290 

DlODORUS SlCULUS. 

Biographical Sketch, 291 

Alexander's Noble Demeanor to- 
wards the Family of Darius, 292 

Epictettts. 
Biographical Sketch, 294 

A Man is what he is in Himself, 296 
How to act acceptably to the Gods, 297 
True Superiority, 297 

Be always ready for the Summons, 298 

298 
299 
299 
299 
299 



Losses but Restorations, 

Daily consider your End, 

Woman's True Adornment, 

Our Property, not Ourselves, 

The true Lover of Mankind, 

The Best Habitation, 

True Standard of Estimation, 

True Happiness, 

Fortune vs. Character, 

The True Feast, 

Truth, 

Freedom and Slavery, 

Power of Kindness, 

What makes Cities Good, 

The Mob, 

True Benevolence, 

Hope, 

Pyrrho, 

Justice, 

God All-seeing, 

Test of Friendship, 

Contentment, 

Truth, 

The Best Legacy, 

True Greatness, 

Plutarch. 
Biographical Sketch, 
Aristides, 

Ostracism of Aristides, 
The Horrible Proscriptions 

Sylla, 



of 



Demosthenes 
pared, 



and Cicero com- 



299 
300 
300 
300 
300 
300 
301 
301 
301 
302 
302 
302 
302 
302 
302 
302 
302 
303 
303 



303 
306 
308 

309 

310 



Croesus, Pluto, Menippus, Midas, 



and Sardanapalus, 


318 


Zenophantes and Callidimedes, 


319 


Menippus, Mercury, 


320 


Cnemon and Damnippus, 


321 


The Sale of the Philosophers, 


321 


True Wealth, 


329 


Metrical Version, 


329 


The Beard, 


329 


Life, 


329 


Age aping Youth, 


329 


The Physician's Business, 


330 


The Truly Rich, 


330 


JElian. 




Biographical Sketch, 


331 


The Egyptian Dog, 


331 


Piety of iEneas, 


331 


Socrates and Alcibiades, 


332 


Humility of Plato, 


332 


Equanimity of Socrates, 


332 



LONG-IXUS. 

Biographical Sketch, 333 

Zenobia. Queen of the East, to 

the Emperor Aurelian, 333 
Source of Sublime Expressions, 335 
What Circumstances produce the 

Sublime, 336 
Cicero and Demosthenes, 337 
Plato's Sublimity, 338 
How Slavery dwarf's the Intel- 
lect, 338 
Luxury and Avarice foes to Ge- 
nius and Learning, 339 

Plautus, 

Biographical Sketch, 343 

The Captives, 344 

The Miser, or Pot of Gold, 352 

Terexce, 

Biographical Sketch, 356 

Scenes from the Andria, 358 

Humanity, 364 

The Mind is its own Place, 364 

Women, 365 

The Unfortunate Neglected, 365 

Lucretius. 

Biographical Sketch, 365 



CONTENTS. 



XV 



In Praise of Philosophy, 367 

Vernal Showers, 368 

The New-Born Babe, 369 

Animals and their Young, 369 

Twelve Signs of the Zodiac, 370 

Love Universal, 370 

Cornelius Nepos. 

Biographical Sketch, 371 

Aristides, ' 371 

Cimon, 373 

Epaminondas, 375 

Marcus Tullius Cicero. 
Biographical Sketch, 377 
Invective against Catiline, 384 
Expulsion of Catiline from Rome, 385 
The Tyrant Praetor, Verres, de- 
nounced, 386 
Advantages of Age, 388 
On the Immortality of the Soul, 389 
Cicero's Prospects of a Future 

Life, 390 

The Necessity of a Friend, 391 

The Offices of Friendship, 392 
Virtue to be Loved and Sought 

for Itself, 393 

The Love of Knowledge Innate, 394 

Death no Evil, 396 

Letter to Trebatius, 398 

Letter to Terentia and Tullia, 400 

Letter to Papirius Psetus, 401 

Caius Julius Caesar. 

Biographical Sketch, 403 

People and Customs of Britain, 405 

The Druids, 405 

The Gauls, 406 

The Germans, 408 

Battle of Pharsalia, 409 

Catullus. 

Biographical Sketch, 412 

To Lesbia's Sparrow, 413 

Elegy on the Sparrow, 413 

To Lesbia, 414 

To Himself, 414 

To Lesbia Faithless, 415 

To Marcus Tullius Cicero, 415 

To the Peninsula of Sirmio, 416 

Caius Salustius Crispus. 

Biographical Sketch, 416 
Character of the Later Roman 

Republic, 418 

Character of Catiline, 420 
Cato's Speech in the Senate upon 



the Punishment due the Con- 
spirators, 422 

Virgil. 

Biographical Sketch, 425 

Eclogue Fourth, 429 

Praises of Italy, 431 

Praise of Rural Life, 432 
Various Employments of the Bee 

Community, 433 

iEneas at the Court of Dido, 434 
iEneas Escaping from the Flames 

of Troy, 437 
Dido's Passion for iEneas, . 440 
iEneas meets the Shade of Dido 

in the Infernal Regions, 441 
The Punishments of the Guilty 

in Hell, 442 

TlBULLUS. 

Biographical Sketch, 444 

To Delia, 445 

The Golden Age, 446 

To Neaera, 447 

To Sulpicia, 448 

Content, 448 

Propertius. 

Biographical Sketch, 449 

To Cynthia, 450 

The Effigy of Love, 451 

To Cynthia, 452 

QUINTUS HORATIUS FLACCUS. 

Biographical Sketch, 453 

To Maecenas, 457 

To Pyrrha, 458 

To Pyrrha, 458 

To Pyrrha, 459 

To Lydia, 459 

To Lydia, 460 

Another Ode to Lydia, 461 

To Licinius, 461 

To Dellius, 462 

To his Lyre, 463 

To a Miser, 464 

To Phyllis, 465 

To Aristius Fuscus, 466 

To Virgil, 466 

Conscience, 467 

Detraction, 467 

Advice, 468 

Country Life, 468 

Freedom, 409 

Directions for Writing, 469 

Titus Livius. 

Biographical Sketch, 471 



XVI 



CONTENTS. 



Battle between the Horatii and 
the Curiatii, 473 

Consternation in Rome, 476 

Joy in Rome consequent upon 
the Victory of Claudius Nero, 477 

Speech of Publius Cornelius Sci- 
pio in favor of the Romans in- 
vading Africa, 479 

Speech of Hannibal to Scipio be- 
fore the Battle of Zama, 481 

Ovid. 
Biographical Sketch, 484 
Beauty — The Fading, the En- 
during, 486 
Rumor ever Busy, 486 
A Letter written in his Exile, 487 
Lover's Leap, 488 
Seizure of Europa by Jupiter, 488 
Power of Good Nature, 490 
The Cave of Sleep, 490 
The Golden Age, 492 
The Silver Age, 492 
The Brazen Age, 493 
The Iron Age, 493 
Baucis and Philemon, 494 
Prediction of his own Fame, 497 

Velleitjs Paterculus. 

Biographical Sketch, 498 

Character of Pompey, 498 

Death of Pompey, ' 499 

Character of Cicero, 500 J 
Battle of Actium — Augustus 

Caesar, 500 

Persitts. 

Biographical Sketch, 502 

Reprehension of Slothful Habits, 503 

From the Fourth Satire, 504 



Seneca. 
Biographical Sketch, 
True Happiness founded on Wis- 
dom, 
Against Rash Judgment, 
The Equality of Man — Virtue 

the only Nobility, 
All Things ordered by God, 
On Study ; and True Riches, 
Change of Place changes not the 

Mind, 
Reason Peculiar to Man, 
Immortality of the Soul, 



506 



508 



513 

514 
515 
516 



Passage of the Rubicon, 
Flight of Pompey, 
Death of Pompey, 
Luxury the Bane of Nations, 
Character of Cato, 

Pliny the Elder. 
Biographical Sketch, 
Of the Harmony of the Stars, 
Nature of the Earth, 
Nature of Man, 
Character of Julius Caesar, 
Men remarkable for Wisdom, 
Drunkenness, 

Pliny the Younger. 

Biographical Sketch, 

Retirement and Study com- 
mended, 

Let Reading and Hunting go 
together, 

Pleasures of Rural Life, 

The Changes made by Time, 

The World Knows not its Best 
Men, 

His Disposition of Time in Sum- 
mer, 

Winter Employments, 

Persecutions of the Early Chris- 
tians, 

Trajan's Reply : Directing Pliny 
how to proceed with the 
Christians, 

Suetonius. 

Biographical Sketch, 546 

Character of Cicero, 546 

The Usurpation of Augustus, 547 

Caractacus, 549 

Juvenal, 550 



523 
523 
524 
524 
525 



526 
527 
528 
529 
531 
532 
534 



535 

537 

538 
538 
539 

540 

541 
542 

543 



545 



Statius. 
Biographical Sketch, 
Mercury's Mission to the King 

of Thebes, 

510 { A Tempestuous Night, 
j To Sleep, 

511 | To his Wife Claudia, 

512 i 
Quintus Curtius. 

Biographical Sketch, 

Correspondence between Darius 
and Alexander, 

Speech of the Scythian Ambas- 
sadors to Alexander, 



Lucan. 
Biographical Sketch, 519 

State of Rome, 521 



551 

552 
553 
554 
555 



556 



556 



557 



Martial. 
Biographical Sketch, 



560 



CONTENTS. 



XV11 



I do not Love Thee, 561 

The False and True Mourner, 561 

The Pretty Attalus, 561 

Another Version, 562 

To Chloe, 562 

The Truly Great, 562 

The Value of Literary Fame, 563 

What is well Given is not Lost, 563 

Another Version, 563 

To a Detractor, 563 

To-Morrow, 564 

To a Bad Epigrammatist, 564 

The Tedious Barber, 564 

To a Bad Couple, 565 

To Quintius Ovidius, 565 

To Julius Martialis, 565 

Another Version, 566 

Epitaph on Erotion, 566 

The City and Country, 567 

Florus. 

Biographical Sketch, 567 

The Battle of Cannae, 568 

Character of Fabius, 569 

Conspiracy of Catiline, 570 

Tacitus. 

Biographical Sketch, 571 
Customs and Character of the 

German Tribes, 573 
Uses of Biography. — Condition 

of Rome, 575 

Galgacus' Address to his Soldiers, 576 

Character of Agricola, 577 

QjUINTILIAN. 

Biographical Sketch, 579 

Choice of a Teacher, 580 
Pupils should regard their Tutors 

as Intellectual Parents, 581 

What is essential to a true Orator, 582 

Is Oratory Useful, 584 

The Peroration of a Discourse, 585 



Juvenal. 

Biographical Sketch, 



The Vanity of Human Wishes, 589 
Know Thyself, 592 

Value of Wisdom — Wickedness 

of the Age, 592 

Avarice, 593 

Competency, 593 

Conscience, 593 

Luxury, 593 

Legitimate Objects of Human 

Wishes, 594 

Right Training of Children, 594 



Au'lus Gellius. 

Biographical Sketch. 

The Humble Origin of Great Men, 599 

He only Succeeds who Helps Him- 
self, 600 

What led Protagoras to Philoso- 
phy, 

Philip and Alexander, 

Meaning of the Latin word " Hu- 
man itas," 

A Philosopher's Answer to a Rich 
Man, 



598 



601 
602 

603 

603 



Justin. 

Biographical Sketch, 

Comparison of Philip and Alex- 
ander, 

Athens after the Defeat at 2Egos 
Potamos, 

Pythagoras, 



604 



605 



605 
607 



BOETHIUS. 

Biographical Sketch, 608 

Happiness consists not in the 

Gifts of Fortune, 609 

Happiness not found in Power or 

Honors, 610 

Adverse Fortune often Profitable, 612 
Confidence in God, 613 



588 Index, 



615 



COMPENDIUM 



CLASSICAL LITERATURE 



PART EIBST. 

THE LITERATURE OF GREECE. 



C M P E N I) I U M 



CLASSICAL LITERATURE 



PAKT FIEST. 
THE LITERATURE OF GREECE. 



HOMER. 

Read Homer once, and you cau read bo more, 
For all books else appear so mean, so poor ; 
Verse will seem prose ; tmt still persist to read, 
Aud Homer will be all the books you Heed. 

Sheffield, Duke of Bv/ekinghamshire 

Be Homer's works your study and delight, 

Read them by day, and meditate by night ; 

Thence form your judgment, thence your maxims bring, 

A id trace the Muses upward to their spring. 

Pope. 
Great Homer too appears, of daring wing, 
Parent of song. 

Thomson. 

Troy's doubtful walls in ashes passed away, 
Yet frown on Greece in Homer's deathless lay. 

Charles Sprague. 

It is not a little remarkable that nothing should be known with 
certainty of the parentage, or of the birth-place, or even of the era of 
the greatest poet of antiquity; of him who, next to Milton, ranks as 
the greatest epic poet of the world. As to his birth-place, it is well 
known that seven cities contended for the honor of it, according to the 
following dactylic hexameter: — 

"Smyrna, Chi-os, Colo-phon, Sala-mis, Rhodos, Argos, A-thense." 

Of these, Smyrna appears to have the best claim, his epithet, Mele- 
sigenes, being derived from the river Meles., 1 which was in the neigh- 

1 "Blind Melesigenes, thence Homer call'd, 

Whose poem, Phoebus challenged for his own." — Par. Beg., iv. 259. 
He is also called Mao aides , as some think, from Maeonia, the ancient name 
of Lydia; or, as others, from Mason, King of Lyclia, his reputed father. 
Blind Thamyri.-, and blind Mseonides " — Par. Lost, iii. 35. 
3 



26 HOMER. [b. c. 950. 

borhood of tliat city, while all Ms local descriptions, as well as liis 
feelings and prejudices, as displayed in liis works, seem to favor his 
Asiatic and probably Ionian origin. 

As to the antiquity of his life and writings, there is a still greater 
diversity of opinion. The Arundelian marbles place him about 907 
years before Christ, and with this the majority of learned men are 
disposed to concur. Of his personal history little is known. Many 
stories are related of his youthful precocity, which are doubtless my- 
thical, but all authorities agree in testifying to the purity of his life. 1 
This is evident from his works, for no one can read them without being 
struck with this noble quality which distinguishes him not only 
amongst heathen, but almost amongst Christian poets, so called, 
namely, that there is hardly a passage or sentiment in any of his 
poems which could not be read aloud in the company of the purest 
and most refined ; so that even Horace remarks that the contrast be- 
tween virtue and vice is more instinctively painted in the Homeric 
poems than in the lectures of philosophers. 

As to the personality of Homer, one would scarcely think that any 
sane mind, competent to judge in the matter, could ever for a moment 
question it. The ancients themselves never entertained a doubt on 
the subject. Pindar, Plato, Aristotle, and other distinguished Greek 
authors to whom his writings were familiar, all assumed the fact, 
nor did they ever doubt that the " Iliad" and the " Odyssey" were 
the work of one mind. The difference between these poems did not, 
indeed, escape their critical notice — just as we perceive the difference 
between the "Paradise Lost" and the "Paradise Regained," of Milton ; 
but they never thought that, in order to account for this difference, 

1 "In two- respects, all the accounts concerning him agree — that he had 
travelled much, and that he was afflicted with blindness. From the rirst cir- 
cumstance, it has been inferred that he was either rich or enjoyed the patron- 
age of the wealthy; but this will not appear necessary, when it is considered 
that, in his time, journeys were usually performed on foot, and that he pru- 
bably travelled, with a view to his support, as an itinerant musician or 
reciter. From most of the traditions respecting him, it appears that he was 
poor, and it is to be feared that necessity, rather than the mere desire of 
gratifying curiosity, prompted his wanderings. All that has been advanced 
respecting the occasion of his blindness is mere conjecture. Certain it is, 
that this misfortune arose from accident or disease, and not from the opera- 
tion of nature at his birth ; for the character of his compositions seems rather 
to suppose him all eye, than destitute of sight; and if they were even framed 
during his blindness, they form a glorious proof of the vivid power of the 
imagination more than supplying the want of the bodily organs, and not 
merely throwing a variety of its own tints over the objects of nature, but 
presenting them to the mind in a clearer light than could be shed over them 
by one whose powers of immediate vision were perfectly free from blemish."" 
— Sir Thomas J\ r oon Talfourd. 



B. C. 950.] HOMER, 2*1 

they must suppose that the two poems proceeded from different au- 
thors. Longinus compared the " Iliad" to the sun in its noonday 
splendor, and the " Odyssey" to the same luminary when shorn of its 
beams at its setting ; but he would as soon have doubted the identity 
of the mid-day and the evening sun as that of the author of the two 
poems.' 

But it was left to modern skepticism (which seems to think that to 
doubt shows a higher order of intellect than to believe on evidence) 
to maintain the bold position that the " Iliad" and the " Odyssey" 
were a collection of separate lays by different authors, arranged and 
put together for the first time during the tyranny and by the order of 
Pisistratus, 2 at Athens, about 550 B. C. The chief supporters of this 
theory are the celebrated German scholars, Wolf and Heyne, who 
flourished about 1800, and who both published editions of Homer of 
great learning and research. We have not room here to discuss 

1 "There are many hearts and minds to which one of these matchless poems 
will be more delightful than the other; there are many to which both Avill 
give equal pleasure, though of different kinds ; but there can hardly be a 
person, not utterly averse from the Muses, who will be quite insensible to the 
manifold charms of one or the other. The dramatic action of the Iliad may 
command attention where the diffused narrative of the Odyssey would fail 
to do so ; but how can any one, who loves poetry under any shape, help 
yielding up his soul to the virtuous siren-singing of Genius and Truth, which 
is for ever resounding from the pages of either of these marvellous and truly 
immortal poems? In the Iliad will be found the sterner lessons of public 
justice or public expedience, and the examples are for statesmen and gene- 
rals; in the Odyssey we are taught the maxims of private prudence and in- 
dividual virtue, and the instances are applicable to all mankind ; in both, 
Honesty, Veracity, and Fortitude are commended, and set up for imitation ; 
in both, Treachery, Falsehood, and Cowardice are condemned, and exposed 
for our scorn and avoidance. Born, like the river of Egypt, in secret light, 
they yet roll on their great collateral streams, wherein a thousand poets have 
bathed their sacred heads, and thence drunk Beauty and Truth, and all sweet 
and noble harmonies. Known to no man is the time or place of their gush- 
ing forth from the earth's bosom, but their course has been amongst the 
fields and by the dwellings of men, and our children now sport on their banks 
and quaff their salutary waters. Of all the Greek poetry, I. for one, have 
no hesitation in saying that the Iliad and the Odyssey are the most delightful 
and have been the most instructive works to me ; there is a freshness about 
them both which never fades, a truth and sweetness which charmed me as a 
boy and a youth, and on which, if I attain to it, I count largely for a sooth- 
ing recreation in my old age." — Henry Nelson Coleridge. 

a That before the time of Pisistratus the books of the "Iliad" and the 
"Odyssey" were in disorder, and that the honor of the present arrangement 
is due to him, is probable from a remark in Cicero's " De Oratore," third 
book: Quis doctior iisdem temporibus quam Pisistratus? qui primus Ho- 
meri libros, confusos an tea, sic disposuisse dicitur ut nunc habemus. — "Who 
in these times was more learned than Pisistratus, who is said to have first 
disposed the books of Homer, before that time in disorder, as we now possess 
them 9 " 



2S HOMER. [_B. C - 950. 

this question; 1 but it is enough to say that the ingenious arguments 
of these learned men have been fully answered by modern scholars 
of equal learning. 2 

Indeed, it would hardly seem possible that any other opinion than 
the personality of Homer as the author of the Iliad and the Odyssey 
could win the common sense of mankind; for every reader of the 
poems ascribed to him must be impressed with the belief that they 
are the works of one author, from these three prominent characteris- 
tics — first, their general similarity of style, taste, and feeling ; second, 
the unity of their plan ; and third, the consistency of the characters. 3 
Even one rhetorical figure alone, which is so much used by Homer 
that it might almost be called Homeric — the simile — so pervades his 
whole works, in a style and taste so similar, that it must of itself, 
one would think, forever settle the question. 4 

1 Those who may desire to go into the subject fully -will read Wolfs 
" Prolegomena," and the strictures of his great opponent, G. W. Nitzsch; 
hut a succinct account of the argument may be found in Browne's " Classical 
Literature," and in the "History of Greek Literature,"* by Sir Thomas Noon 
Talfourd. 

2 Even Wolf himself candidly declares that when he reads the " Hind" he 
finds such unity of design, such harmony of coloring, and such consistency 
of character, that he is ready to give up his theories, and to be angry with 
himself for doubting the common faith in the personality of Homer. 

Professor Felton, in his excellent edition of the "Iliad."* thus remarks in 
the preface : " For my own part, I prefer to consider it, as we have received 
it from ancient editors, as one poem, the work of one author, and that 
author Homer — the first and greatest of minstrels. As I understand the 
'Iliad.' there is a unity of plan, a harmony of parts, a consistency among 
the different situations of the same character, which mark it as the produc- 
tion of one mind; but of a mind as versatile as the forms of nature, the 
aspects of life, and the combinations of powers, propensities, and passions 
in man are various." In these views, the literary world now very generally 
concurs. 

3 "The hypothesis to which the antagonists of Homer's personality must 
resort implies something far more wonderful than the theory which they 
impugn. They profess to cherish the deepest veneration for the genius dis- 
played in the poems. They agree, also, in the antiquity usually assigned to 
them ; and they make this genius and this antiquity the arguments to prove 
that one man could not have composed them. They suppose, then, that in 
a barbarous age, instead of one being marvellously gifted, there were many ; 
a mighty race of bards, such as the world has never since seen — a number of 
miracles instead of one. All experience is against this opinion. In various pe- 
riods of the world great men have arisen, under very different circumstances, 
to astonish and delight it ; but that the intuitive power should be so strangely 
diffused, at any one period, among a great number, who should leave no suc- 
cessors behind them, is unworthy of credit. And we are requested to believe 
this to have occurred in an age which those who maintain the theory regard 
as unfavorable to the poetic art ! The common theory, independent of other 
proofs, is primA facie the most probable. Since the early existence of the 
works cannot be doubted, it is easier to believe in one than in twenty Ho- 
mers." — Talfourd. 

4 " It was reserved for modern times."" say? that true genius and profound 



r>. c. 950. j homer. 20 

Of the incidents in the life of Homer, almost as little is known as 
of his parentage and birthplace. The general account is that he 
was for many years a schoolmaster in Smyrna ; that, being visited by 
one Mentes, the commander of a Leucadian ship, he was induced by 
him to leave his occupation and travel ; that, in company with this 
captain, he visited the various countries around the shores of the Me- 
diterranean ; and at last was left at Ithaca, in consequence of a weak- 
ness in his eyes. While in this island, he was entertained by a man 
of fortune named Mentor, who narrated to him the stories upon which 
afterwards the Odyssey was founded. On the return of Mentes, he 
accompanied him to Colophon, 1 where he became totally blind. He 
then returned to Smyrna, and afterwards removed to Cyme (called also 
Cuma), in iEolis, where he received great applause in the recitations 
of his poems, but no pecuniary reward ; the people alleging that they 
could not maintain all the 'Ojuvpo:, Homeroi, or blind men, and hence he 
obtained the name of Homer. 2 Thence he went about from place to 
place, acquiring much wealth by his recitations, and died at the island 
of Ios, one of the Cyclades, where he was buried. 

The works attributed to Homer consist of the two epic poems, the 
Iliad and the Odyssey; the Batrachomyomachia, or "Battle of the Frogs 
and Mice," a humorous, mock-heroic poem, and somewhat of a parody 
on the Iliad; the Margites, a satirical, personal satire ; and about thirty 
Hymns. All of these but the two great epics are now, however, con- 
sidered as spurious. 

THE ILIAD. 

The subject of the Iliad is, in general terms, the " wrath of Achilles," 3 
his separation from the Grecian army in consequence of it, and the 

scholar, the late Dr. Maginn, of Scotland, "to start the astounding doctrine 
that these divine poems are the productions of different hands. I am not 
ignorant of the talent, learning, and industry of Wolf j but I should as soon 
believe in four-and-twenty contemporary, or nearly contemporary, Homers, 
as in four-and-twenty contemporary Shakspeares or Miltons." And again : 
" He who cannot see that the Iliad was written by the same hand from be- 
ginning to end, is past the help of couching ; and I might as well attempt to 
describe the Cartoons to a man in the state of physical blindness." 

1 A city of Lydia, about forty miles south of Smyrna. 

2 The etymology of O^npot thus being fxn opa>?, One not seeing. 

3 There has been much misconception and dispute as to the Argument of 
the Iliad. Aristotle, as is well known, lays down, in his Poetics, a set of 
rules for the composition of an epic poem, which rules he founds upon 
the basis of the Iliad and the Odyssey, and of which he pronounces these 
poems to be complete and perfect models. But some critics, assuming "the 
anger of Achilles" to be the argument, and finding that to fail at the open- 
ing of the 18th book, have condemned Aristotle. But it is not very probable 
that that illustrious critic would have been so completely deceived in the 

3* 



30 HOMER. [b. c. 950. 

events of the Trojan war during his absence and immediately after 
his return. It is divided into twenty-four books, of which the follow- 
ing are the several subjects : I. The poet proposes to sing of Achilles' 
wrath, and its terrible consequences to the Greeks. When the poem 
opens, more than eight years of the war are supposed to have passed 
away. In the siege of a neighboring town by Achilles, he takes to 
himself a beautiful captive, Brise'is ; Agamemnon claims her ; a fierce 
quarrel arises between the heroes, and Achilles refuses to take part in 
the war, and retires in disgust, and the Greeks are discomfited until, 
in the 18th book, he returns. II. The enumeration of the forces of 
the Greeks and Trojans. III. The duel between Menelaiis and Paris 

application of his own rules as to offer the Iliad as an exact illustration, 
when, in fact, it was a direct violation of them. It seems, therefore, to me 
that the true argument of the Iliad has been unfolded by a distinguished 
English scholar, Granville Penn, the able vindicator of the Mosaic account 
of the creation. His work is entitled "An Examination of the Primary Ar- 
gument of the Iliad;" and on page 161, after along, careful, and learned 
discussion, he says : " It is not difficult, therefore, now to perceive, that the 

PRIMARY AND GOVERNING ARGUMENT OF THE ILIAD, CO-extensive with its 

extent, running through all its length, and reaching to its extreme termina- 
tion, is — THE SURE AND IRRESISTIBLE POWER OF THE DIVINE WILL OVER 
THE MOST RESOLUTE AND DETERMINED WILL OF MAN, EXEMPLIFIED IN THE 
DEATH AND BURIAL OF HECTOR BY THE INSTRUMENTALITY OF ACHILLES, 
AS THE IMMEDIATE PRELIMINARY TO THE DESTRUCTION OF TrOY. : ' To me 

this seems entirely satisfactory, and to answer all the demands. Because 
the anger of Achilles is mentioned by the poet in the first line, that has been 
taken for the argument; but the introduction of the poem embraces two dis- 
tinct propositions, connected with each other by the Greek adversative par- 
ticle tfe, "but;" the " anger of Achilles"' is the first clause, and the ±io; B 
" the will of Jove," the second. But neither Pope in his paraphrastic version, 
nor Cowper in his more literal translation, has preserved the argument as it 
is in the original. The Auc boumi, " the will of Jove," has been considered 
by most commentators as a parenthesis of but little meaning, whereas it is 
an essential feature in the argument of the poem, and must be taken in con- 
nection with " the anger of Achilles." From the poem itself, we see that it 
was fixed in the determinate counsels of Jupiter that Troy should be de- 
stroyed. The war was drawing to a close, when the quarrel between Aga- 
memnon and Achilles seemed to prevent the fulfilment of the decrees of 
Jupiter. But the death of Patroclus, by the hand of Hector, moves the ire 
of Achilles, and he goes forth from his seclusion bent on the destruction of 
the Trojan hero, and determines to give his unburied corse to the birds 
and beasts. But Jove destines Hector for honorable burial. Accordingly, 
Achilles is diverted from his purpose by a command of Jupiter, and his body 
is given to the aged Priam, and honored with funeral rites ; and thus the 
poem concludes with the accomplishment of the purposes of Jove. This ar- 
gument corresponds with the rules laid down by Aristotle ; for the Iliad is 
one perfect whole, and has those essential qualities of unity — a Beginning, 
a Middle, and an End. "The anger of Achilles" is the *j%», or "begin- 
ning ;" the death of Patroclus, with the previous and subsequent events con- 
nected therewith, the [jlitov, "the middle," and the death and burial of 
Hector the tsxoc, or "end."* Thus we have the argument as stated by Mr. 
Penn — the sure and irresistible power op the divine will, Arc. as 
just stated. 



v.. C. 950.] HOMER. 31 

for Helen. IV. The trace is violated, and the battle between the two 
armies begins. V. The prowess of Diorned. VI. The episodes of 
Grlaucus and Diomed, and of Hector and Andromache. VII. The sin- 
gle combat between Hector and Ajax. VIII. The second battle and 
defeat of the Grecians. IX. The embassy to Achilles, with proposals 
from Agamemnon to restore Brise'is, which he treats with scorn. X. 
The night adventure of Diomed and Ulysses to the Trojan camp. XI. 
The third battle, and the exploits of Agamemnon. XII. The Trojans, 
with Hector at their head, assault the fortified camp of the Grecians, 
and succeed in forcing an entrance ; the Greeks fly in confusion to their 
ships. XIII. The fourth battle, in which Neptune assists the Greeks. 
XIV. Juno deceives Jupiter by the girdle of Venus ; Neptune takes 
advantage of his slumber, and aids the Greeks. XV. The fifth battle, 
at the ships; the valiant deeds of Ajax. XVI. The sixth battle; 
Patroclus, arrayed in the armor of Achilles, is killed by Hector. XVII. 
The seventh battle ; deadly strife for the body of Patroclus ; exploits 
of Menelaiis. XVIII. The grief of Achilles at his friend's death; his 
new armor forged by Hephaestus, and his celebrated " Shield" described. 
XIX. Reconciliation between Agamemnon and Achilles ; the latter 
rushes forth to battle. XX. Jupiter permits the gods to engage in the 
battle. XXI. Battle in the river Scamander, in which the deities par- 
ticipate. XXII. Achilles and Hector engage in single combat ; the 
latter falls, and his corse is dragged at the chariot-wheels of his con- 
queror. XXill. The funeral rites of Patroclus performed. XXIV. 
Priam begs of Achilles the body of Hector, whose funeral concludes 
the poem. 

THE ODYSSEY. 

The Odyssey, like the Iliad, consists of twenty-four books, and the 
general subject is — the wanderings of Ulysses, his many dangers and 
sufferings on his return from Troy to his home in Ithaca. This he 
finds invaded by a band of insolent intruders, who seek to rob him of 
his faithful wife, Penelope, and to kill his son, Telemachus. He re- 
mains concealed for some time, but finally reveals himself, kills the 
suitors, discloses himself to his wife, and subsequently to his aged 
father, Laertes : and with this the poem closes. 1 

1 To give the subjects of all the books of the Odyssey in full would occupy 
too much space; they may be found in extenso in Browne's "History of 
(Ireek Literature," from which I select the following very just remarks on 
the two poems : "It cannot be denied that the ' Odyssey' does not show the 
same sublimity and grandeur, the same fervid enthusiasm, and torrent-like 
eloquence as the 'Iliad ;' but it does not follow for that reason that it is an 
inferior work. It displays equal genius, but less imagination. The calmness 



32 HOMER. [b. c 950. 

The best editions of Homer are by Dr. Samuel Clarke, 1729-1740, 
in Greek and Latin, four volumes quarto, which lias been reprinted 
in various sizes and styles ; and that by Heyne, Leipsie, 1802, eight 
volumes octavo, Greek and Latin. The Rev. William Trollope, of 
London, has published an excellent edition of the Iliad, with English 
notes and preliminary. observations, in two volumes octavo ; and Dr. 
James Kennedy Baillie, of Dublin, a similar one in three volumes 
duodecimo. In our own country, Professor C. C. Felton, now the Pre- 
sident of Harvard College, published, in 1833, a beautiful edition of 
the Iliad, with English notes and Flaxman's designs. Professor Owen's 
editions of the Iliad and the Odyssey, with English notes, for colleges 
and schools, are much approved. 

Of the translations of Homer into English, the most celebrated are 
those of Chapman, Pope, and Cowper. Chapman's- object seems to be 
to present Homer's pictures faithfully to his readers, and to preserve 
the precise and specific features which stamped their character. Pope, 
on the other hand, too often renders his pictures indefinite by vague 
generalities. The general sense of Homer is indeed preserved, but 
that variety of style which is so exquisitely appropriated by the Gre- 
cian to the nature of the subject, is lost in Pope's version. 1 Still, 

of wisdom supersedes the storms of passion, and gives a general coloring to 
the whole, as different from that of the ' Iliad' as the wrathful hero of the 
Trojan war differs from the prudent Odysseus. There is a contrast not only 
between the subjects, hut the objects, of the two poems, sufficient to account 
for difference of style. The subject of the 'Odyssey' is human life in all its 
varied points of view, its strange vicissitudes of fortune : the object is to 
inculcate, by precept and example, lessons of moral and political wisdom. 

" Doubtless, Homer was older when he wrote the ' Odyssey,' but he shows 
no marks, as Longinus would have us suppose, of decaying and declining 
genius. The subject was one suited to the riper and calmer judgment of 
maturer years, but it is treated skilfully and appropriately. The language, 
imagery, and poetical ornament are as suitable to its gentler nature, as fire 
and impetuosity are to the stirring scenes of the ' Iliad.' Wherever sublimity 
is appropriate, the 'Odyssey' rises to as great a height as the 'Iliad.' If 
the awful contest of the elements is described, there is no deficiency in ani- 
mation ; if the terror inspired by the unexpected presence of Odysseus, and 
the glories of his triumph over vice and profligacy are painted, the language 
is as majestic and dignified as that which narrates a battle in the 'Iliad.' 
The religious and almost devotional feeling which pervades the second poem 
is far more awful and sublime than the mythological attributes with which 
the poet of the ' Iliad' invests the divine nature. Everywhere there are points 
of unequalled excellence which mark the world's poet. In moral power, in 
wise instruction, in tranquil reflection, in simplicity of historical narrative, 
in pathos, and in comic liveliness, the 'Odyssey' is even superior to the 
grander poem." 

1 The most elaborate edition of Pope's Homer is that by Gilbert Wake- 
field, London, 1796, eleven volumes octavo. It is full of instructive notes, 
and is very valuable. Read an excellent article on Homer in the thirty- 
seventh volume of the "North American Review:" another on Hevue's 



B. C. 950.] HOMER. 33 

there is a harmony and splendor of diction and versification in his 
translation, accompanied by grace and elegance, that will always make 
it the favorite with the public. Cowper's blank verse translation is 
doubtless more correct than either Chapman's or Pope's, but it is too 
prosaic to kindle the imagination, or even to enlist any deep interest. 
The celebrated Thomas Hobbes, of Malmesbury, also translated the 
Iliad and Odyssey, but not with much success. In 1834, appeared 
"The Iliad and Odyssey, translated by Mr. Sotheby." This is in 
rhyme, and in the English heroic measure ; but, while more correct 
than Pope's translation, it is destitute of his spirit and elegance. ' The 
last version is the following : " The Iliad of Homer, faithfully trans- 
lated into unrhymed English metre." By F. W. Newman : London, 
1850. However "faithful" it is, it will never be praised for its ele- 
gance, and never be generally read. 2 But it is quite time to present 
selections from our author. 



OPENING ARGUMENT OF THE ILIAD. 

Achilles' wrath, to Greece the direful spring 

Of woes uunumbered, heavenly goddess sing ! 

That wrath which hurl'd to Pluto's gloomy reign 

The souls of mighty chiefs untimely slain ; 

Whose limbs, unburied on the naked shore, 

Devouring dogs and hungry vultures tore ; 

Since great Achilles and Atrides strove. 

Such was the sov'reign doom, and such the will of Jove. 

Pope. 

Homer in the second volume of the "Edinburgh;" and another on the various 
translations of Homer in the third volume of the "Retrospective." A con- 
densed and able judgment on the various questions involved in the Homeric 
discussions will be found in the second volume of Grote's History of Greece. 

1 Read "Inquiry into the Life and "Writings of Homer," by Thomas Black- 
well ;_ "Introduction to the Study of the Greek Classic Poets," by Henry 
Nelson Coleridge ; "Studies on Homer and the Homeric Age," by the Right 
Hon. W. E. Gladstone, D. C. L., in three volumes octavo; this is a very 
erudite and valuable work. See remarks on Chapman's version in " War- 
ton's History of English Poetry," vol. iv. p. 269. 

2 In 1846, Little & Brown, of Boston, published "Homer's Iliad, trans- 
lated by William Munforcl," 2 vols. 8vo. Mr. Munford was a native of Vir- 
ginia, and died at Richmond in 1845, a year before his work was put to press. 
He was a graduate of William and Mary College, and studied law ; but he 
was more fond of literary pursuits than his profession. His translation of 
Homer is a correct version, though destitute of poetic merit. See a notice 
of it in the sixty-third volume of the "North American Review," by Prof. 
Felton ; and another in the forty-first volume of the " Christian Examiner," 
by Rev. N. L. Frothingham. 



3-4 HOMER. [b. c. 950. 



MINERVA ARMING HERSELF FOR BATTLE. 

Minerva ■wrapt her in the robe, that curiously she wove 

With glorious colors, as she sate on th' azure floor of Jove ; 

And wore the arms that he puts on, bent to the tearful field. 

About her broad-spread shoulders hung his huge and horrid shield, 1 

Fring'd round with ever-fighting snakes ; though it was drawn to life 

The miseries and deaths of fight ; in it frown'd bloody Strife ; 

In it shin'd sacred Fortitude ; in it fell Pursuit flew ; 

In it the monster Gorgon's head, in which held out to view 

Were all the dire ostents'- of Jove ; on her big head she plac'd 

His four-plum'd glittering casque of gold, so admirably vast, 

It would an hundred garrisons of soldiers comprehend. 

Then to her shining chariot her vigorous feet ascend ; 

And in her violent hand she takes his grave, 3 huge, solid lance, 

With which the conquests of her wrath she useth to advance, 

And overturn whole fields of men ; to show she was the seed 

Of him that thunders. Then heaven's queen, to urge her horses' speed, 

Takes up the scourge, and forth they fly ; the ample gates of heaven 

Rung, and flew open of themselves ; the charge whereof is given, 

With all Olympus and the sky, to the distinguished 4 Hours ; 

That clear or hide it all in clouds, or pour it down in showers. 

This way their scourge-obeying horse made haste, and soon they won 

The top of all the topful heavens, where aged Saturn's son 

Sate sever'd from the other gods. 

Chapman's translation, v. 



PARTING OF HECTOR AND ANDROMACHE. 

Hector now pass'd, with sad presaging heart, 
To seek his spouse, his soul's far dearer part ; 
At home he sought her, but he sought in vain : 
She, with one maid of all her menial train, 
Had thence retired; and with her second joy, 
The young Astyanax, the hope of Troy: 
Pensive she stood on Ilion's towery height, 
Beheld the war, and sicken'd at the sight ; 
There her sad eyes in vain her lord explore, 
Or weep the wounds her bleeding country bore. 

Hector this heard, return'd without delay ; 
Swift through the town he trod his former way, 
Through streets of palaces and walks of state, 
And met the mourner at the Sccean gate. 

» Jove's horrid shield — the iEgis. 

2 Ostents — " portentous displays ;" from the Latin ostendere. 

3 Grave — "heavy;" the Latin gravis. 

Distinguish'd — "between which there are manifest distinctions. 



B. C. 950.] HOMER. 35 

With haste to meet him sprung the joyful fair, 
His blameless wife, Aetion's wealthy heir. 
The nurse stood near, in whose embraces press'd, 
His only hope hung smiling at her breast ; 
Whom each soft charm and early grace adorn, 
Fair as the new-born star that gilds the morn. 
Silent the warrior smiled, and pleased resigu'd 
To tender passions all his mighty mind : 
His beauteous princess cast a mournful look, 
Hung on his hand, and then dejected spoke; 
Her bosom labor'd with a boding sigh, 
And the big tear stood trembling in her eye. 

"Too daring prince! ah, whither dost thou run? 
Ah, too forgetful of thy wife and son ! 
And think'st thou not how wretched we shall be, 
A widow I, a helpless orphan he ! 
For sure such courage length of life denies, 
And thou must fall, thy virtue's sacrifice. 
Greece in her single heroes strove in vain; 
Now hosts oppose thee, and thou must be slain! 
Oh grant me, gods ! ere Hector meets his doom, 
All I can ask of heaven, an early tomb ! 
So shall my days in one sad tenor run, 
And end with sorrows as they first begun. 
No parent now remains my griefs to share, 
No father's aid, no mother's tender care. 
The fierce Achilles wrapp'd our walls in fire, 
Laid Thebe waste, and slew my warlike sire I 
By the same arm my seven brave brothers fell ; 
In one sad day beheld the gates of hell. 
My mother lived to bear the victor's bands, 
The queen of Hippoplacia's sylvan lands. 

Yet, while my Hector still survives, I see 
My father, mother, brethren, all in thee : 
Alas ! my parents, brothers, kindred, all 
Once more will perish, if my Hector fall. 
Thy wife, thy infant, in thy danger share : 
0, prove a husband's and a father's care! 
That quarter most the skilful Greeks annoy, 
Where yon wild fig-trees join the walls of Troy ; 
Thou from this tower defend the important post ; 
There Agamemnon points his dreadful host, 
That pass Tydides, Ajax, strive to gain, 
And there the vengeful Spartan fires his train. 
Thrice our bold foes the fierce attack have given, 
Or led by hopes, or dictated from heaven. 
Let others in the field their arms employ, 
But stay my Hector here, and guard his Troy." 

The chief replied : " That post shall be my care, 
Nor that alone, but all the works of war. 
How would the sons of Troy, in arms renown'd, 
And Troy's proud dames, whose garments sweep the ground. 



36 HOMER. [b. c. 050. 

Attaint the lustre of my former name, 

Should Hector basely quit the field of fame ! 

My early youth was bred to martial pains, 

My soul impels me to the embattled plains : 

Let me be foremost to defend the throne, 

And guard my father's glories and my own. 

Yet come it will, tlie day decreed by fates ; 

(How my heart trembles while my tongue relates !) 

The day when thou, imperial Troy ! must bend, 

Must see thy warriors fall, thy glories end. 

And yet no dire presage so wounds my mind, 

My mother's death, the ruin of my kind, 

Not Priam's hoary hairs defiled with gore, 

Not all my brothers gasping on the shore, 

As thine, Andromache ! thy griefs I dread; 

I see thee trembling, weeping, captive led ! 

In Argive looms our battles to design, 

And woes, of which so large a part was thine! 

To bear the victor's hard commands, or bring 

The weight of waters from Hyperia's spring. 

There, while you groan beneath the load of life, 

They cry, 'Behold the mighty Hector's wife!' 

Some haughty Greek, who lives thy tears to see. 

Embitters all thy woes by naming me. 

The thoughts of glory past, and present shame, 

A thousand griefs shall waken at the name! 

May I lie cold before that dreadful day, 

Press'd with a load of monumental clay! 

Thy Hector, wrarjt in everlasting sleep, 

Shall neither hear thee sigh, nor see thee weep." 

Thus having spoke, the illustrious chief of Troy 
Stretch'd his fond arms to clasp the lovely boy. 
/ The babe clung crying to his nurse's breast, 
Scared at the dazzling helm and nodding crest. 
With secret pleasure each fond parent smiled, 
And Hector hasted to relieve his child ; 
The glittering terrors from his brows unbound, 
And placed the beaming helmet on the ground. 
Then kiss'd the child, and, lifting high in air, 
Tims to the gods preferr'd a father's prayer: — 

"0, thou whose glory fills the ethereal throne! 
And all ye deathless powers, protect my son ! 
Grant him, like me, to purchase just renown, 
To guard the Trojans, to defend the crown ; 
Against his country's foes the war to wage, 
And rise the Hector of the future age ! 
So when, triumphant from successful toils 
Of heroes slain, he bears the reeking spoils, 
Whole hosts may hail him with deserved acclaim. 
And say, 'This chief transcends his father's fame;' 
While pleased, amidst the general shouts of Troy, 
His mother's conscious heart o'erfiows with 



B. C. 950.] HOMER. 37 

He spoke, and fondly gazing on her charms, 
Restored the pleasing burden to her arms ; 
Soft on her fragrant breast the babe he laid, 
Hush'd to repose, and with a smile survey'd. 
The troubled pleasure soon chastised by fear, 
She mingled with the smile a tender tear. 
The soften'd chief with kind compassion view'd, 
And dried the falling drops, and thus pursued : — 

" Andromache, my soul's far better part, 
Why with untimely sorrows heaves thy heart? 
No hostile hand can antedate my doom, 
Till fate condemns me to the silent tomb. 
Fix'd is the term to all the race of earth ; 
And such the hard condition of our birth, 
No force can then resist, no flight can save ; 
All sink alike, the fearful and the brave. « 

• No more — but hasten to thy tasks at home, 
There guide the spindle, and direct the loom : 
Me glory summons to the martial scene, 
The field of combat is the sphere for men ; 
Where heroes war, the foremost place I claim, 
The first in danger, as the first in fame." 

Thus having said., the glorious chief resumes 
His towery helmet black with shading plumes. 
His princess parts, with a prophetic sigh, 
Unwilling parts, and oft reverts her eye, 
That stream'd at every look ; then, moving slow, 
Sought her own palace, and indulged her woe. 
There, while her tears deplored the godlike man, 
Through all her train the soft infection ran, 
The pious maids their mingled sorrows shed, 
And mourn the living Hector as the dead. 

Po2>e, Iliad, vi. 



THE RACE OF MAN. 

Like leaves on trees the race of man is found, 

Now green in youth, now withering on the ground: 

Another race the following spring supplies ; 

They fall successive, and successive rise : 

So generations in their course decay ; 

So flourish these when those are past away. 



Pope, Iliad, vi. 



COUNCIL OF THE GODS. 

Aurora now, fair daughter of the dawn, 
Sprinkled with rosy light the dewy lawn ; 
When Jove convened the senate of the skies, 
Where high Olympus' cloudy tops arise. 
4 



38 HOMER. [b. c. 950. 

The Sire of Gods his awful silence broke, 

The heavens attentive trembled as he spoke : — 

" Celestial states, immortal gods, give ear! 
Hear our decree, and reverence what ye hear ; 
The fix'd decree, which not all heaven can move ; 
Thou, Fate, fulfil it ; and ye, Powers, approve ! 
What god but enters yon forbidden field, 
Who yields assistance, or but wills to yield, 
Back to the skies witb shame he shall be driven, 
Gash'd with dishonest wounds, the scorn of heaven : 
Or far, oh far, from steep Olympus thrown, 
Low in the dark Tartarean gulf shall groan, 
With burning chains fix'd to the brazen floors, 
And lock'd by hell's inexorable doors ; 
As deep beneath the infernal centre hurl'd, 
As from that centre to the ethereal world. 
Let him who tempts me dread those dire abodes, 
And know the Almighty is the god of gods. 
League all your forces, then, ye powers above, 
Join all, and try the omnipotence of Jove : 
Let down our golden everlasting chain, 

Whose strong embrace holds heaven, and earth, and main ; 
Strive all, of mortal and immortal birth, 
To drag, by this, the Thunderer down to earth : 
Ye strive in vain ! If I but stretch this hand, 
I heave the gods, the ocean, and the land ; 
I fix the chain to great Olympus' height, 
And the vast world hangs trembling in my sight ! 
For such I reign, unbounded and above ; 
And such are men and gods, compared to Jove.*' 

Pope, Iliad, viii. 

NIGHT-SCENE. 

The troops exulting sat in order round, 
And beaming fires illumined all the ground. 
As when the moon, refulgent lamp of night ! 
0*er heaven's clear azure spreads her sacred light, 
When not a breath disturbs the deep serene, 
And not a cloud o'ercasts the solemn scene ; 
Around her throne the vivid planets roll, 
And stars unnumber'd gild the glowing pole, 
O'er the dark trees a yellower verdure shed, 
And tip with silver every mountain's head ; 
Then shine the vales, the rocks in prospect rise, 
A Mood of glory bursts from all the skies : 
The conscious swains, rejoicing in the sight. 
Eye the blue vault, and bless the useful light. 
So many flames before proud Ilion blaze. 
And lighten glimmering Xanthus with their rays : 
The long reflections of the distant flies 
Gleam on the walls, and tremble on the spires. 

Pope, Iliad, viii. 



B. C. 950.] HOMER. 39 



HATEFULNESS OF WAR. 

Cursed is the man, and void of law and right, 

Unworthy property, unworthy light, 

Unfit for public rule, or private care ; 

That wretch, that monster, who delights in war : 

Whose lust is murder, and whose horrid joy 

To tear his country, and his kind destroy ! 

Pope, Iliad, ix. 



ACHILLES' ABHORRENCE OF FALSEHOOD. 

Who dares think one thing, and another tell, 
My heart detests him as the gates of hell. 

Pope, Iliad, 



SHOWERS OF ARROWS COMPARED TO FLAKES OF SNOW. 

As the feathery snows 
Fall frequent on some wintry day, when Jove 
Hath risen to shed them on the race of man, 
And show his arrowy stores ; he lulls the wind, 
Then shakes them down continual, covering thick 
Mountain tops, promontories, flowery meads, 
And cultured valleys rich, and ports and shores 
Along the margined deep ; but there the wave 
Their further progress stays ; while all besides 
Lies whelm'd beneath Jove's fast descending shower ; 
So thick, from side to side, by Trojans hurled 
Against the Greeks, and by the Greeks returned, 
The stony volleys flew. 

Cowper, Iliad, xii. 



PRTAM BEGGING OF ACHILLES THE DEAD BODY OF HIS SON 
HECTOR. 

" Think, Achilles, semblance of the gods, 
On thine own father, full of days like me, 
And trembling on the gloomy verge of life. 
Some neighbor chief, it may be, even now 
Oppresses him, and there is none at hand, 
No friend to succor him in his distress. 
Yet, doubtless, hearing that Achilles lives, 
He still rejoices, hoping day by day. 



40 HOMER. [b. c. 950. 

That one day lie shall see the face again 

Of his own son, from distant Troy returned. 

But me no comfort cheers, whose bravest sons, 

So late the flowers of Ilium, are all slain. 

When Greece came hither, I had fifty sons ; 

But fiery Mars hath thinn'd them. One I had, 

One, more than all my sons, the strength of Troy, 

Whom, standing for his country, thou hast slain— 

Hector. His body to redeem I come 

Into Achaia's fleet, bringing myself, 

Ransom inestimable to thy tent. 

Rev'rence the gods, Achilles ! recollect 

Thy father ; for his sake compassion show 

To me, more pitiable still, who draw 

Home to my lips (humiliation yet 

Unseen on earth), his hand who slew my son !* : 

So saying, he waken'd in his soul regret 

Of his own sire ; softly he placed his hand 

On Priam's hand, and pushed him gently away. 

Remembrance melted both. Rolling before 

Achilles' feet, Priam his son deplored, 

Wide-slaughtering Hector, and Achilles wept 

By turns his father, and by turns his friend 

Patroclus : sounds of sorrow fill'd the tent. 

Cowper, Tlio'l '. xxiv. 



HELEN'S LAMENTATION OYER HECTOR'S BODY. 

Grief fell on all around ; 
Then Helen thus breathed forth her plaintive sound : — 

" Hector, to Helen's soul more lov'd than all 
Whom I in Ilion's walls dare brother call, 
Since Paris here to Troy his consort led, 
Who in the grave had found a happier bed. 
'Tis now, since here I came, the twentieth year, 
Since left my land, and all I once held dear : 
But never from that hour has Helen heard 
From thee a harsh reproach or painful word ; 
But if thy kindred blam'd me, if unkind 
The queen e'er glanc'd at Helen's fickle mind — 
(For Priam, still benevolently mild, 
Look'd on me as a father views his child) — 
Thy gentle speech, thy gentleness of soul, 
Would by thine own, their harsher minds control. 
Hence, with a heart by torturing misery rent, 
Thee and my hapless self I thus lament ; 
For no kind eye in Troy on Helen rests, 
But who beholds me shudders and detests." 

Sot/icbi/, Iliad, xxiv. 



B. 0. 950.] HOMER. 41 



HOSPITALITY. 

True friendship's laws are by this rule express'd : 
Welcome the coming, speed the parting guest. 

Pope, Od., xv. 

SLAVERY. 

Jove fix'd it certain, that whatever day 

Makes man a slave, takes half his worth away. 

Pope, Od., xvii. 



ULYSSES AND HIS COMPANIONS IN THE CAVE OF POLYPHEMUS. 

Attaining soon that neighbor-land we found 
At its extremity, fast by the sea, 
A cavern, lofty, and dark-brow'd above 
With laurels ; in that cavern slumbering lay 
Much cattle, sheep, and goats, and a broad court 
Inclosed it, fenced with stones from quarries hewn, 
With spiry firs, and oaks of ample bough. 
Here dwelt a giant vast, who far remote 
His flocks fed solitary, converse none 
Desiring, sullen, savage, and unjust. 
Monster, in truth, he was, hideous in form, 
Resembling less a man by Ceres' gift 
Sustain'd, than some aspiring mountain crag 
Tufted with wood, and standing all alone. 
Enjoining then my people to abide 
Fast by the ship, which they should closely guard, 
I went ; but not without a goat-skin fill'd 
With sable wine, which I had erst received 
From Maron, offspring of Evanthes, priest 
Of Phoebus, guardian god of Ismarus. 
Few steps convey'd us to his den, but him 
We found not ; he his flocks pastured abroad. 
His cavern entering, we with wonder gazed 
Around on all ; his strainers hung with cheese 
Distended wide ; with lambs and kids his pens 
Close-throng'd we saw, and folded separate 
The various charge ; the eldest all apart, 
Apart the middle-aged, and the new-yean'd 
Also apart. His pails and bowls with whey 
Swam all, neat vessels into which he milk'd. 
Me then my friends first importuned to take 
A portion of his cheeses, then to drive 
Forth from the sheep-cotes to the rapid bark 
4* 



42 homer. [b. c. 950. 

His kids and lambs, and plow tlie brine again. 

But me they moved not ; happier had they moved ! 

I wish'd to see him, and to gain, perchance, 

Some pledge of hospitality at his hands, 

Whose form was such as should not much bespeak, 

When he appear'd, our confidence or love. 

Then, kindling fire, we offer'd to the gods, 

And, of his cheeses eating, patient sat 

Till home he trudged from pasture. Charged he came 

With dry wood bundled, an enormous load ; 

Fuel by which to sup. Loud crash'd the thorns 

Which down he cast before the cavern's mouth, 

To whose interior nooks we trembling flew. 

At once he drove into his spacious cave 

His batten'd flock, all those which gave him milk ; 

But all the males, both rams and goats, he left 

Abroad, excluded from the cavern-yard. 

Upheaving, next, a rocky barrier huge 

To his cave's mouth, he thrust it home. That weight 

Not all the oxen from its place had moved 

Of twenty and two wains ; with such a rock 

Immense, his den he closed. Then down he sat, 

And as he milk'd his ewes and bleating goats, 

All in their turns, her yeanling gave to each ; 

Coagulating then, with brisk dispatch, 

The half of his new milk, he thrust the curd 

Into his wicker sieves, but stored the rest 

In pans and bowls — his customary drink. 

His labors thus perform'd, he kindled, last, 

His fuel, and discerning us, inquired : — 

" Who are ye, strangers ? from what distant shore 
Roam ye the waters ? traffic ye ? or, bound 
To no one port, wander, as pirates use, 
At large the deep, exposing life themselves, 
And enemies of all mankind beside ?" 

He ceas-ecl ; we, dash'd with terror, heard the growl 
Of his big voice, and view'd his form uncouth ; 
To whom, though sore-appall'd, I thus replied : — 

" Of Greece are we, and, bound from Ilium home, 
Have wander'd wide the expanse of ocean, sport 
For every wind, and, driven from our course, 
Have here arrived ; so stood the will of Jove. 
We boast ourselves of Agamemnon's train, 
The son of Atreus, at this hour the chief 
Beyond all others under heaven renown'd, 
So great a city he hath sack'd, and slain 
Such numerous foes ; but since we reach, at last. 
Thy knees, we beg such hospitable fare, 
Or other gift, as guests are wont to obtain. 
Illustrious lord ! respect the gods, and us 
Thy suitors ; suppliants are the care of Jove, 
The hospitable ; he their wrongs resents, 
And where the stranger sojourns, there is he.'" 



B. C. 950.] HOMER. 43 

I ceased ; when answer thus, he fierce .return'd : — 
"Friend ! either thou art fool, or hast arrived 
Indeed from far, who bidd'st me fear the gods 
Lest they be wroth.. The Cyclops little heeds 
Jove segis-arm'd, or all the powers of heaven. 
Our race is mightier far ; nor shall myself, 
Through fear of Jove's hostility, abstain 
From thee or thine, unless my choice be such. 
But tell me now, where touch'd thy gallant bark 
Our country, on thy first arrival here ? 
Remote or nigh ? for I would learn the truth." 

So spake he, tempting me ; but, artful, thus 
I answered, penetrating his intent: — 

" My vessel, Neptune, shaker of the shores, 
At yonder utmost promontory dash'd 
In pieces, hurling her against the rocks 
With winds that blew right thither from the sea ; 
And I, with these alone, escaped alive." 

So I ; to whom, relentless, answer none 
He deign'd, but, with his arms extended, sprang 
Toward my people, of whom, seizing two 
At once, like whelps against his cavern-floor 
He dash'd them, and their brains spread on the ground. 
These, piecemeal hewn, for supper he prepared, 
And, like a mountain-lion, neither flesh 
Nor entrails left, nor yet their marrowy bones. 
We, viewing that tremendous sight, upraised 
Our hands to Jove, all hope and courage lost. 
When thus the Cyclops had with human flesh 
Fill'd his capacious belly, and had quaff 'd 
Much undiluted milk, among his flocks 
Outstretch'd immense, he press 'd his cavern-floor. 
Me, then, my courage prompted to approach 
The monster, with my sword drawn from the sheath, 
And to transfix him where the vitals wrap 
The liver ; but maturer thoughts forbad. 
For so, we also had incurr'd a death 
Tremendous, wanting power to thrust aside 
The rocky mass that closed his cavern-mouth 
By force of hand alone. Thus many a sigh 
Heaving, we watch'd the dawn. But when, at length 
Aurora, day-spring's daughter, rosy-palm'd 
Look'd forth, then kindling fire, his flocks he milk'd 
In order, and her yeanling kid or lamb 
Thrust under each. When thus he had perform'd 
His wonted task, two seizing, as before, 
He slew them for his next obscene regale. 
His dinner ended, from the cave he drove 
His fatted flocks abroad, moving with ease 
That ponderous barrier, and replacing it 
As he had only closed a quiver's lid. 
Then, hissing them along, he drove his flocks N 



44 iiomer. [b. c. 950. 

Toward the mountain, and me left, the while, 

Deep ruminating how I best might take 

Vengeance, and, by the aid of Pallas, win 

Deathless renown. This counsel pleased me most : 

Beside the sheep-cote lay a massy club 

Hewn by the Cyclops from an olive stock, 

Green, but which, dried, should serve him for a staff. 

To us considering it, that staff appear'd 

Tall as the mast of a huge trading-bark, 

Impeird by twenty rowers o'er the deep. 

Such seem'd its length to us, and such its bulk. 

Part amputating (an whole fathom's length), 

I gave my men that portion, with command 

To shave it smooth. They smooth'd it, and myself, 

Shaping its blunt extremity to a point, 

Season'd it in the fire ; then covering close 

The weapon, hid it under litter'd straw, 

For much lay scattered on the cavern-floor. 

And now I bade my people cast the lot 

Who of us all should take the pointed brand, 

And grind it in his eye when next he slept. 

The lots were cast, and four were chosen, those 

Whom most I wish'd, and I was chosen fifth. 

At even-tide he came, his fleecy flocks 

Pasturing homeward, and compelled them all 

Into his cavern, leaving none abroad, 

Either through some surmise, or so inclined 

By influence, haply, of the gods themselves. 

The huge rock pull'd into his place again 

At the cave's mouth, he, sitting, milk : d his sheep 

And goats in order, and her kid or lamb 

Thrust under each ; thus, all his work dispatch'd, 

Two more he seized, and to his supper fell. 

I then approaching to him, thus address'd 

The Cyclops, holding in my hand a cup 

Of ivy-wood, well charged with ruddy wine. 

" Lo, Cyclops, this is wine ! Take this and drink 
After thy meal of man's flesh. Taste, and learn 
What precious liquor our lost vessel bore. 
I brought it hither, purposing to make 
Libation to thee, if, to pity inclined, 
Thou wouldst dismiss us home. But ah, thy rage 
Is insupportable ! thou cruel one ! 
Who, thinkest thou, of all mankind, henceforth 
Will visit thee, guilty of such exces 

I ceased. He took and drank, and, hugely pleased 
With that delicious beverage, thus inquired: — 

'•Give me again, and spare not. Tell me, too, 
Thy name, incontinent, that I may make 
Requital, gratifying also thee 
With somewhat to thy taste. We Cyclops own 



B. C. 950.] HOMER. 45 

A bounteous soil, which yields us also wine 

From clusters large, nourish'd by showers from Jove ; 

But this — oh, this is from above — a stream 

Of nectar and ambrosia, all divine !" 

He ended ; and received a second draught, 
Like measure. Thrice I bore it to his hand, 
And, foolish, thrice he drank. But when the fumes 
Began to play around the Cyclops' brain, 
With show of amity I thus replied : — 

" Cyclops ! thou hast my noble name inquired, 
Which I will tell thee. Give me, in return, 
Thy promised boon, some hospitable pledge. 
My name is Outis 1 ; Outis I am call'd 
At home, abroad, wherever I am known." 

So I ; to whom he, savage, thus replied : — 
"Outis, when I have eaten all his friends, 
Shall be my last regale. Be that thy boon." 

He spake ; and downward sway'd, fell resupine, 
With his huge neck aslant. All-conquering sleep 
Soon seized him. From his gullet gush'd the wine, 
With human morsels mingled; many a blast 
Sonorous issuing from his glutted maw. 
Then thrusting far the spike of olive-wood 
Into the embers glowing on the hearth, 
I heated it, and cheer'd my friends the while, 
Lest any should, through fear, shrink from his part. 
But when that stake of olive-wood, though green, 
Should soon have flamed, for it was glowing hot, 
I bore it to his side. Then all my aids 
Around me gather'd, and the gods infused 
Heroic fortitude into our hearts. 
They, seizing the hot stake rasp'd to a point, 
Bored his eye with it, and myself, advanced 
To a superior stand, twiii'd it about. 
As when a shipwright with his wimble bores 
Tough oaken timber, placed on either side 
Below, his fellow-artists strain the thong 
Alternate, and the restless iron spins, 
So, grasping hard the stake pointed with fire, 
We twirl'd it in his eye ; the bubbling blood 
Boil'd round about the brand ; his pupil sent 
A scalding vapor forth that singed his brow, 
And all his eye-roots crackled in the flame. 
As when the smith an hatchet or large axe, 
Tempering with skill, plunges the hissing blade 
Deep in cold water (whence the strength of steel), 
So hiss'd his eye around the olive-wood. 
The howling monster with his outcry fill'd 

1 This is the Greek for "No-man," and by the ingenious device of giving 
himself this name, Ulysses, as will be seen in the sequel, saved himself and 
his surviving companions from destruction. 



46 HOMER. [b. c. 950. 

The hollow rock, and I, with, all my aids, 
Fled terrified. He, plucking forth the spike 
From his burnt socket, mad with anguish cast 
The implement all bloody far away. 
Then, bellowing, he sounded forth the name 
Of every Cyclops dwelling in the caves 
Around him, on the wind-swept mountain tops ; 
They, at his cry nocking from every part, 
Circled his den, and of his ail inquired : — 

" What grievous hurt hath caused thee, Polypheme, 
Thus yelling to alarm the peaceful ear 
Of night, and break our slumbers ? Fear'st thou lest 
Some mortal man drive off thy flocks ? or fear'st 
Thyself to die by cunning or by force ?" 

Them answered then, Polypheme, from his cave: — 
" 0, friends, I die ! and Outis gives the blow." 

To whom, with accents wing'd, his friends without : — 
" If ' No-man' harm thee, but thou art alone, 
And sickness feel'st, it is the stroke of Jove, 
And thou must bear it ; yet invoke for aid 
Thy father Neptune, sovereign of the floods." 

So saying, they went ; and in my heart I laugh'd 
That, by the fiction only of a name, 
Slight stratagem ! I had deceived them all. 

Then groan'd the Cyclops, wrung with pain and grief, 
And, fumbling with stretek'd hands, removed the rock 
From his cave's mouth, which done, he sat him down 
Spreading his arms athwart the pass, to stop 
Our egress with his flocks abroad ; so dull, 
It seems, he held me, and so ill advised. 
I, pondering what means might fittest prove 
To save from instant death (if save I might) 
My people and myself, to every shift 
Inclined, and various counsels framed, as one 
"Who strove for life, conscious of woe at hand. 
To me, thus meditating, this appeared 
The likeliest course : the rams, well-thriven, were 
Thick-fleeced, full-sized, with wool of sable hue. 
These silently, with osier twigs on which 
The Cyclops, hideous monster! slept, I bouud 
Three in one leash ; the intermediate rams 
Bore each a man, whom the exterior two 
Preserved, concealing him on either side. 
Thus each was borne by three ; and I, at last, 
The curl'd back seizing of a ram (for one 
I had reserved, far stateliest of them all), 
Slipp'd underneath his belly, and both hands 
Enfolding fast in his exuberant fleece, 
Clung ceaseless to him as I lay supine. 
We, thus disposed, waited with many a sigh 
The sacred dawn ; but when, at length arisen, 
Aurora, day-spring's daughter, rosy-palrn'd 



B. C. 950.] HOMER. 47 

Again appear'd, the males of all his flocks 
Rush'd forth to pasture, and his ewes, the while, 
Stood bleating, unrelieved from the distress 
Of udders overcharged. Their master, rack'd 
With pain intolerable, handled yet 
The backs of all, inquisitive, as they stood ; 
But, gross of intellect, suspicion none 
Conceived of men beneath their bodies bound. 
And now (none left beside), the ram approach 'd, 
With his own wool burthen'd, and with myself — 
Whom many a fear molested. Polypheme, 
The giant, strok'd him as he sat, and said : — 

"My darling ram ! why latest of the flock 
Comest thou, whom never, heretofore, my sheep 
Could leave behind? but, stalking at their head, 
Thou first was wont to crop the tender grass, 
First to arrive at the clear stream, and first, 
With ready will, to seek my sheep-cote here 
At evening ; but, thy practice changed, thou comest 
Now last of all. Feel'st thou regret, my ram ! 
Of thy poor master's eye, by a vile wretch 
Bored' out, who overcame me first with wine, 
And by a crew of vagabonds accursed, 
Followers of Outis, whose escape from death 
Shall not be made to-day ? Ah ! that thy heart 
Were as my own, and that, distinct as I, 
Thou could'st articulate ; so should'st thou tell 
Where hidden, he eludes my furious wrath. 
Then, clash'd against the floor his spatter'd brain 
Should fly ; and I should lighter feel my harm 
From Outis — wretch base-named, and nothing worth." 

So saying, he left him to pursue the flock. 
When, thus drawn forth, we had at length escaped 
Few paces from the cavern and the court, 
First quitting my own ram, I loosed my friends, 
Then turning seaward many a thriven ewe 
Sharp hoof 'd, we drove them swiftly to the ship. 
Thrice welcome to our faithful friends we came, 
From death escaped, but much they mourn'd the dead. 
I suffer'd not their tears, but silent shook 
My brows, by signs commanding them to lift 
The sheep on board, and instant plough the main. 

Cowper, Od., ix. 



ULYSSES DISCOVERING HIMSELF TO HIS FATHER, 

Within the well-laid orchard all alone 

He found his father digging with his spade 

Around a plant. He was unseemly clad 

In coarse patch'd tunic, and had stitched him boots 

Of hides, to fence his legs from tearing thorns ; 



48 HOMER. [b. c. 950. 

And 'gainst the brambles, be bad sheath'd bis bauds 
In gloves. Upon bis bead be wore a cap 
Of goat's hair, and be fed some inward grief. 

When brave Ulysses, tried in sufferings, saw 
And recogniz'd bis father, worn with age, 
While a great sorrow on his spirits weigb'd, 
He stood beneath a pear-tree's lofty boughs, 
And dropp'd a tear. Then, musing, be revolv'd ' 
Within his mind and heart if he should kiss 
And clasp bis father, and in order tell 
By what events he reach'd his country's shores, 
Or first with questions prove him. Till while thus 
He turn'd it in bis thoughts, it better pleas'd 
With cutting words to try the old man's heart ; 
And so considering, brave Ulysses went 
Straight to his father. He with head bow'd down 
Dug round about the plant. His noble son 
Stood near him, and address'd himself in speech : — 
" Old man, no want of skill is thine to tend 
This garden, for thy care appears throughout ; 
No plant, no fig-tree, vine, nor olive-tree, 
Pear-tree, nor bed, escape thy culturing hand 
In all the garden. I would something add, 
Nor let thy anger rise at this my speech. 
This carefulness becomes thee not ; thy age 
Is heavy on thee ; thou dost seem in plight 
Ill-favor 'd, and thy garb uncomely shows. 
Good sooth, from no complaint of idle heed 
Thy lord neglects thee thus ; nor art thou mean 
To look upon, nor servile in thy form 
Or stature ; rather like a king, like one 
Who, having bathed and eaten, should repose 
Softly ; tbe custom due for aged men. 
But come, I pray thee tell me, and with truth, 
Whom servest thou ? whose garden dost thou keep ? 
And tell me too, that I may surely know, 
If this, the land which I have reach'd, indeed 
Be Ithaca ? as he, the first I met, 
Has told me ; but a man of what he knew 
Sparing ; nor had he patience to disclose 
All that I wish'd, or listen to the drift 
Of what I ask'd concerning one, my guest ; 
If yet be live, or lie within the grave. 
But I will tell it thee ; vouchsafe thine ear, 
And bear me. In my native land, I once 
Received within my house a man, than whom 
No stranger more beloved from distant parts 
E'er cross'd my threshold; and he named his race 
Of Ithaca, Laertes as bis sire. 
Him did I entertain and feast with love, 
And spared not cost, for I had store within. 
I gave him too, as fitting, many gilts 



B. C. 950.] HOMER. 49 

In hospitable pledge ; seven talents coin'd 
Of gold well-minted, and a goblet framed 
Entire of silver, and enchased with flowers ; 
Twelve single mantles, and as many robes, 
Broider'd with divers colors ; twelve fair cloaks 
With tunics fitted ; and, above the rest, 
Four comely women in embroidery skill'd, 
Free from a fault, which he himself might choose." 
The father, melting into tears, replied : — 
" 0, stranger ! thou in truth hast reach'd the soil 
Of which thou questionest ; but shameless men, 
And violent in wrong, possess the land. 
The gifts thou gavest in thy bounteous mood 
Were given in vain. If thou hadst found him here 
Alive, amidst the people of our isle, 
He would have sent thee hence with ample gifts, 
Requited hospitably — as beseems 
One who, himself a guest, hath so received 
Of hospitable gifts. But tell me now, 
And truly tell, how many years have past 
Since that when he thou namest, even my son, 
Became thy guest ? thy wretched guest, my son ! 
If it were he, ill-fated, whom, remote 
From friends and country, fishes have devour'd 
Amidst the deep ; or he hath been the food 
Of beasts and ravening birds upon the shore. 
Nor they who gave him life have wept beside 
His corse, anointed for the burial rite ; 
Nor wise Penelope, his high-dower'd wife, 
Has mourn'd her husband on his nuptial bed 
With seemly grief, nor closed his eyes, the last 
Sad honor of the dead. And tell me too, 
That I may surely know, what man art thou ? 
Whence ? from what city ? who thy parents are ? 
Say in what anchorage the ship is moor'd 
That bore thee swiftly hither, and the rest 
Thy noble friends ; or in another's bark 
Camest thou passenger, and have they gone, 
And left thee here behind ?" Then answering spake 
Crafty Ulysses : " I will tell thee true : 
I am from Alybas, and there reside 
In splendid mansions, king Aphydas' son, 
My name Eperitus. Some adverse god 
Wide from Sicania drove me, and coinpell'd 
Reluctant hither ; but my ship is mooi'd 
Fast by the strand, at distance from the town. 
Five years have roll'd their circles o'er his head, 
Since that Ulysses parted from my land. 
Unhappy man ! yet, as he went his way, 
Birds of good augury appeared in flight 
Propitious ; so, in joy, I sent him thence ; 
He too had joy departing, and the hope 
5 



50 HOMER. [b. c. 950. 

Was in his mind that he should interchange 

My hospitality, and grace me here 

With splendid gifts." He said ; hut then a cloud 

Of blackest sorrow on Laertes fell. 

With both his hands he snatch'd the burning dust, 

And strew'd it on his hoary head, and groan'd 

Deep from his heart. Ulysses' soul was moved 

Within him, and the sharp and throbbing breath. 

Thrill'd to his nostrils as he looked upon 

The father whom he loved. Sudden he leap'd 

Unto his neck, and kiss'd and clasp'd him round, 

And cried : " I, I am he, my very self, 

He whom thou seek'st, my father ! I am come, 

In twentieth year of absence, to my land. 

But come, refrain from weeping and lament, 

And I will tell thee ; for the utmost haste 

Is urgent on us. I have slain, ev'n now, 

The suitors in our palace, and avenged 

Their evil deeds and spirit-galling wrongs.*' 

Laertes answering spoke : " If thou indeed 
Be that Ulysses, if thou be my son 
Return'd, give now some open sign, that so 
It may convince me." Then in answer spake 
The wise Ulysses : " First observe the scar 
Whi«h, on the mount Parnassus passing forth, 
A boar inflicted with his ivory tusk. 
My venerable mother and thyself 
Had sent me to her sire, Autolicus, 
To take the gifts which, when he hither came, 
My grandsire promised, smiling in consent. 
Come now, and I will name the trees which once, 
Within this well-laid orchard, thou didst give 
Thy young Ulysses ; for I ask'd them each, 
When yet a boy, and rambling at thy side 
Within the garden ; through the very ranks 
Of trees we walk'd, and thou didst name them all : 
Thirteen with pears were laden that thou gavest, 
With apples ten, and forty hung with figs ; 
And thou distinctly said'st that thou would'st give 
Yet fifty rows of vines, and each was full 
Of clusters ; every kind of grape was there 
When Jove's kind seasons weighed the tendrils down." 
He said ; the old man's knees sank under him, 
And his heart melted, for he recognized 
The signs Ulysses told. Round his dear son 
He cast his arms. The brave, long-suffering chief 
Drew him, with joy, half-lifeless, to his breast. 

Elton s translation, Oil., book xxiv. 

In the year 1838, there appeared, in "Frazer's Magazine," a series 
of translations from Homer, in the ballad style, which, from their 
great beauty, as well as their faithfulness to the original and their 



B. C. 950.] HOMER. 51 

reflecting so admirably its spirit, attracted the attention and excited 
the admiration of scholars. Soon after, in the same magazine, appeared, 
also by the same hand, some admirable translations of the " Comedies 
of Lucian." They were all the productions of William Maginn, LL. D., 
whose death, in 1842, was felt to be a great loss to the literary world. 
These ballads were afterwards collected into a volume, and published 
in London. I should not say, however, all these ballads ; for the editor 
unaccountably omitted four, and took unwarrantable liberties with 
others. But they have all recently been given to the world as they 
originally appeared, and accompanied with discriminating and valuable 
notes, by a scholar of kindred tastes and sympathies, in a volume 
entitled " Homeric Ballads and Comedies of Lucian, translated by the 
late William Maginn, LL. D. : annotated by Dr. Shelton Mackenzie, 
editor of ' Shell's Sketches of the Irish Bar,' ' Noctes Ambrosianae,' 
etc." From these delightful and scholarly productions I take the two 
following : — 

THE INTRODUCTION OF PENELOPE. 1 

r. 
Soon as Athene spoke the word, 
She took the likeness of a bird, 

And, skyward soaring, fled. 
The counsels of the heavenly guest 
Within Telemachus's breast 
New strength and spirit bred. 

ii. 
His absent father to his thought 
Was by his wakened memory brought 

More freshly than of old : 
But when Athene's flight he saw, 
A feeling deep of reverend awe 

His inmost heart controlled. 



He knew the stranger was a god ; 
And, hastening to his own abode, 

1 Minerva, in the appearance of Mentes, had visited Telemachus, and 
counselled him to seek his father. Inspired with a new feeling of independ- 
ence, he joins the suitors, whom he finds at festival listening to Phemius, 
the minstrel, whose song turns, as usual, on the Trojan war. Penelope hears 
the singer, and comes into the hall to request that some other subject than 
that which is so distressful to her feelings should be chosen. Telemachus 
gently rebukes her ; and she retires, convinced that her son is about to take 
the lead in his father's house, to weep herself to slumber over the thoughts 
of her absent husband ; while the suitors continue the noisy revel. She is 
the first mortal female who speaks in the Odyssey, and her first words attest 
the deep and enduring affection she feels for Ulysses. 



52 HOMER. [b. c. 950. 

He joined the suitor train. 
A far-famed minstrel in the hall 
Sang to the peers, who listened all 

In silence to his strain. 



As subject of his lays he chose 
The mournful story of the woes 

Borne by the Achaian host, 
When, under Pallas' vengeful wrath, 
Homeward returning was their path 

Bent from the Trojan coast. 



The song Icarius' daughter heard, 
And all thine inmost soul was stirred, 

Penelope the chaste ! 
Straight did she from her bower repair, 
And, passing down the lofty stair, 

The festal hall she graced. 



Alone she went not — in her train 

She took with her handmaidens twain ; 

And when the peerless queen 
Came where the suitors sate, aloof 
Close hy a post that propped the roof, 

She stood with face unseen. 

Tir. 
A veil concealed her cheeks from view, 
And by each side a handmaid true 

In seemly order stood ; 
With tears fast bursting from her eyne, 
Addressing thus the bard divine, 

She her discourse pursued : — 



"Phemius! for men's delight thy tongue 
Can many another flowing song 

In soothing measure irame ; 
Can tell of many a deed, which, done 
By God or man in days bygone, 

Bards have consigned to fame. 

IX. 

"Take one of those, and all around, 
Silent, will hear the dulcet sound, 

Drinking the blood-red wine ; 
But cease that melancholy lay, 
That wears my very heart away — 

A heavy wo is mine ! 



B. C. 950.] HOMER. . 53 



" How can I check the tide of grief, 
Remembering still that far-famed chief, 

Whose fame all Hellas fills !" 
Answered her son : " 0, mother mine ! 
Why dost thou blame the bard divine 
For singing as he wills ? 

XI. 

"Blame not the poet ; blame to Heaven, 
Which to poor struggling men has given 

What weight of wo it chose. 
How can we charge the bard with wrong, 
If the sad burden of his song- 
Turns on the Danaan woes ? 



" Men ever, with delighted ear, 
The newest song desire to hear 

Then firmly to the strain 
Listen, which tells of perils done 
My sire is not the only one 
1 Who, of the chiefs to Ilion gone, 
Has not returned again. 



" For many, to that fatal shore 
Who sailed away, came back no more 

Thy business is at home, 
Thy servant-maidens to command, 
And ply, with an industrious hand, 

The distaff and the loom. 



" To men the guiding power must be ; 
At all times in these halls to me, 

For here my will is law." 
The queen went homeward, as he bade, 
And felt the words her son had said 

Inspired her soul with awe. 



Soon did she, with her handmaids twain, 
Her lofty seated chamber gain ; 

And there, with many a tear, 
Until Athene came to steep 
Her weary lids in balmy sleep, 
Did chaste Penelope beweep 

Her absent husband dear. 
While, seated still at festival, 
The suitors, in the dusky hall, 

Revelled with noisy cheer. 
5* 



54 HOMER. [b. c. 950. 



THE LAST APPEARANCE OF PENELOPE. 1 



A bed of texture soft and fine 

The nurse and trie handmaiden spread ; 
The couch was decked by torchlight shine, 

And homeward then the old woman sped. 
While Eurynome, as a chamber-groom, 
With lamp in hand, to the nuptial-room 

The new-met partners led. 

ii. 
Thither she led them, and withdrew, 

And left them, as in days of old, 
Their former dalliance to renew 

In joyous passion uncontrolled. 
And the herd of swine, and the herd of kine. 
With the heir of Ithaca's royal line, 

Bade the house its peace to hold. 



The dance was checked as they desired, 
The sound of woman's voice repressed : 

In silence then they all retired 

Within the darkening halls to rest. 

And when was done love's dearest rite. 

Husband and wife with calm delight 
Their mutual thoughts expressed. 



She told him of the scorn and wrong 
She long had suffered in her house 

From the detested suitor throng, 
Each wooing her to be his spouse. 

How, for their feasts, her sheep and kine 

Were slaughtered, while they quaffed her wine 
In plentiful carouse. 



And he, the noble wanderer, spoke 

Of many a deed of peril sore — 
Of men who fell beneath his stroke — 

Of all the sorrowing tasks he bore. 

» This is a beautiful conclusion of the character of Penelope ; cautious 
and guarded, from the unhappy necessity of her position, hut ever chaste 
and domestic ; and, when convinced that her husband has indeed returned, 
as warm and affectionate in his presence as her thoughts had been constant 
and tender toward him in his absence. 



B. C. 950.] HOMER. 55 

She listened, with delighted ear — 
Sleep never came her eyelids near 
Till all the tale was o'er. 



First told he how the Cicones 

He had subdued with valiant hand, 

And how he reached across the seas, 
The Lotus-eaters' lovely land ; 

The crimes by Polyphemus done, 

And of the well-earned vengeance won 
For slaughter of his band. 



Vengeance for gallant comrades slain, 
And by the Cyclops made a prey ; 

And how it was his lot to gain 

The isle where JEolus holds sway ; 

And how the monarch of the wind 

Received him with a welcome kind, 
And would have sent away 



Home to his native isle to sail ; 

But vainly against fate he strove, 
By whom unroused a desperate gale 

Over the fishy ocean drove, 
And sent him wandering once again, 
The toils and dangers of the main 

With many a groan to prove. 



And how he wandered to the coast 
Where dwells the distant Laestrygon ; 

How there his ships and friends he lost, 
Escaping in his bark alone. 

He spoke of Circe's magic guile, 

And told the art and deep-skilled wile 
By the enchantress shown. 



Then how to Hades' grisly hall 
He went to seek the Theban seer, 

In his swift ship ; how there with all 
The partners of his long career 

He met ; and how his mother mild, 

Who bore, and reared him from a child, 
lie saw while wandering there. 



56 noMER. [b. c. 950. 



And how the dangerous strain he heard, 
Sung by the Sirens' thrilling tongue ; 

And how with dexterous skill he steered 
His course the justling rocks among ; 

How he — What none had done before — 

Unscathed through dread Charybdis bore, 
And Scylla sailed along. 

XII. 

And how the oxen of the sun, 

With impious hands, his comrades slew ; 
How their devoted bark upon 

High thundering Jove his lightning threw 
How, by the bolt of life bereft, 
Perished his friends, he only left 

Remaining; of the crew. 



And how, in the Ogygian isle, 

He visited Calypso fair ; 
And how she sought, with many a wile, 

To keep him still sojourning there : 
With fond desire, 'twas hers to crave 
That he, within her hollow cave, 

Her nuptial bed should share. 



Each hospitable art she tried, 

His heart to win — his hopes to soothe 
She promised him, were she his bride, 

Immortal life and ceaseless youth. 
But all her promise, all her art, 
Changed not the temper of his heart, 

Nor shook his steadfast truth. 



How, after many a year of toil, 
When on Pha?aciau land he trod, 

The king and people of the isle 
Hailed him with honors of a god ; 

And sent him, full of presents fair, 

Of gold, and brass, and garments rare, 
Back to his own abode. 



So closed the tale. Then balmy sleep, 
The healer of all human woes, 

D'd their relaxing members seep 
In soft oblivion of repo e. 



b. c. 850.] hesiod. 57 



HESIOD. 

FLOURISHED ABOUT 850 B. C. 

The Greek poet next to Homer, whose works have come down to us, 
is Hesiod. Of the precise period of his birth, we have no account ; 
but the probability is that he flourished from half a century to a cen- 
tury later than Homer. From his works, we gather that he was born 
in Ascra, 1 a village in the central part of Boeotia ; that, while a youth, 
he tended sheep on Mount Helicon, and was engaged in other rural 
pursuits ; and that his father left him some property, of which his 
brother Perses defrauded him. From Ascra he seems to have emi- 
grated to Orchomenos, a city in the western part of Bceotia, on Lake 
Copa'i's, where he spent the remainder of his life. 

The only complete works of Hesiod extant are the following : 
one entitled "Works and Days/' and the other, "Theogony," or the 
" Birth of the Gods." The former is written in very simple style, with 
little poetical imagery, and may be looked upon as the most ancient 
specimen of didactic poetry. It contains ethical, political, and econo- 
mical precepts, the last of which constitute the greater part of the work, 
consisting of rules about choosing a wife, the education of children, 
agriculture, commerce, and navigation. 

The " Theogony" consists mostly of a long and rather dry catalogue 
of gods and goddesses, though it is an accurate account of the deities 
of Greece ; but the description, at the close of the work, of the Battle 
of the Titans and the Gods, is one of the most sublime passages in 
classical poetry, conceived with great boldness, and executed with a 
power and force which show a masterly, though rugged, genius, and 
will bear a favorable comparison with Milton's Battle of the Angels. 2 

Of the most accessible editions of Hesiod, the best are : Robinson's 
splendid edition, published at Oxford in 1737, with the commentaries 
of Graevius, and notes of the editor and others ; that of Lcesner, at 
Leipsic, in 1779, 8vo., which is a republication of Robinson's, with im- 
provements ; and an edition of the " Theogonia" by the celebrated 
Wolf, at Halle, 1783. The translators of Hesiod are George Chapman, 
T. Cooke, and C. A. Elton. Chapman's, though very free, has the 

1 Whence his epithet Ascrccus, or the Asercean. 

2 Another short poem has been attributed to Hesiod, called " The Shield 
of Hercules. ' ; It is in imitation of the Homeric description of the Shield 
of Achilles, in the eighteenth book of the Iliad, but it is quite inferior in 
ability and skill. 



58 hesiod. [b. c. 850. 

same spirit and fire that are seen in his Homer ; Cooke's is more cor- 
rect, but spiritless. By far the best now in use is that of Charles A. 
Elton, London, 1804-1809, with a preliminary dissertation and notes. 
A translation in English prose, by Rev. J. Banks, was published, in 
1856, in " Bonn's Classical Library." 1 



PANDORA'S BOX. 

On earth of yore the sons of men abode 
From evil free and labor's galling load ; 
Free from diseases that, with racking rage, 
Precipitate the pale decline of age. 
Now, swift the days of manhood haste away, 
And misery's pressure turns the temples gray. 
The woman's hands an ample casket bear ; 
She lifts the lid — she scatters ills in air. 
Hope sole remained within, nor took her flight, 
Beneath the vessel's verge conceal'd from light : 
Or, ere she fled, the maid, advised by Jove, 
Seal'd fast th' unbroken cell, and dropp'd the lid above. 
Issued the rest in quick dispersion hurl'd, 
And woes innumerous roam'd the breathing world : 
With ills the land is full, with ills the sea ; 
Diseases haunt our frail humanity : 
Self-wandering through the noon, the night, they glide, 
Voiceless — a voice the power all-wise denied : 
Know then this awful truth — it is not given 
T' elude the wisdom of omniscient heaven. 

Elto) 



RETRIBUTIONS OF PROVIDENCE. 

O'er all the wicked race, to whom belong 
The thought of evil and the deed of wrong, 
Saturnian Jove, of wide-beholding eyes, 
Bids the dark signs of retribution rise : 
And oft the crimes of one destructive fall, 
The crimes of one are visited on all. 
The Ood sends down his angry plagues from high, 
Famine and pestilence ; in heaps they die : 
He smites with barrenness the marriage bed, 
And generations moulder with the dead : 
Again in vengeance of his wrath he falls 
On their great hosts, and breaks their tottering walls ; 

i Read an article on the Life and Writings of Hesiod, in the 47th volume 
of the "Quarterly Preview." and another in the 15th volume of the "Edin- 
burgh Review." 



B. C. 850.] HESIOD. 59 

Scatters their ships of war ; and where the sea 
Heaves high its mountain billows, there is he. 
Ponder, oh judges ! in your inmost thought 
The retribution by his vengeance wrought. 
Invisible, the gods are ever nigh, 
Pass through the midst, and bend th' all-seeing eye : 
The men who grind the poor, who wrest the right, 
Aweless of Heaven's revenge, are naked to their sight. 
For thrice ten thousand holy demons rove 
This breathing world, the delegates of Jove. 
Guardians of man, their glance alike surveys 
The upright judgments and th' unrighteous ways. 
A virgin pure is Justice, and her birth 
August from him who rules the heavens and earth : 
A creature glorious to the gods on high, 
Whose mansion is yon everlasting sky. 
Driven by despiteful wrong, she takes her seat, 
In lowly grief, at Jove's eternal feet. 
There of the soul unjust her plaints ascend; 
So rue the nations when their kings offend : 
When, uttering wiles, and brooding thoughts of ill, 
They bend the laws and wrest them to their will. 
0, gorged with gold, ye kingly judges, hear ! 
Make straight your paths ; your crooked judgments fear ; 
That the foul record may no more be seen, 
Erased, forgotten, as it ne'er had been ! 

Elton. 



WINTER. 

Beware the January month, beware 

Those hurtful days, that keenly-piercing air 

Which flays the herds ; when icicles are cast 

O'er frozen earth, and sheathe the nipping blast. 

From courser-breeding Thrace comes rushing forth 

O'er the broad sea the whirlwind of the north, 

And moves it with his breath : the ocean floods 

Heave, and earth bellows through her wild of woods. 

Full many an oak of lofty leaf he fells, 

And strews with thick-branch'd pines the mountain dells 

He stoops to earth ; the crash is heard around ; 

The depth of forest rolls the roar of sound. 

The beasts their cowering tails with trembling fold, 

And shrink and shudder at the gusty cold ; 

Thick is the hairy coat, the shaggy skin, 

But that all-chilling breath shall pierce within. 

Not his rough hide can then the ox avail ; 

The long-hair'd goat, defenceless, feels the gale : 

Yet vain the north-wind's rushing strength to wound 

The flock with sheltering fleeces fenced around. 

He bows the old man crook'd beneath the storm ; 

But spares the soft-skinn'd virgin's tender form. 



60 HESIOD. [b. c. 850. 

Screened by her mother's roof on wintry nights, 
And strange to golden Venus' mystic rites, 
The suppling waters of the bath she swims, 
With shiny ointment sleeks her dainty limbs ; 
Within her chamber laid on downy bed, 
While winter howls in tempest o'er her head. 

Now gnaws the boneless polypus his feet, 
Starved midst bleak rocks, his desolate retreat ; 
For now no more the sun with gleaming ray 
Through seas transparent lights him to his prey. 
And now the horned and unhorned kind, 
Whose lair is in the wood, sore-famished, grind 
Their sounding jaws, and, chilled and quaking, fly 
Where oaks the mountain dells imbranch on high : 
They seek to couch in thickets of the glen, 
Or lurk, deep sheltered, in some rocky den. 
Like aged men, who, propp'd on crutches, tread 
Tottering, with broken strength and stooping head, 
So move the beasts of earth, and, creeping low, 
Shun the white flakes and dread the drifting snow. 

Elton. 

CERBERUS. 

A grisly dog, 
Implacable, holds watch before the gates ; 
Of guile malicious. Them who enter there, 
With tail and bended ears he fawning soothes : 
But suffers not that they with backward step 
Repass ; whoe'er would issue from the gates 
Of Pluto, strong and stern Persiphone, 
For them, with marking eye. he lurks ; on them 
Springs from his couch, and pitiless devours. 



HONEST POVERTY. 

Fools ! not to know how better, for the soul, 

An honest half than an ill-gotten whole ; 

How richer he who dines on herbs, with health 

Of heart, than knaves with all their wines and wealth. 



BATTLE OF THE GIANTS. 

All on that day stirr'd up th' enormous strife, 
Female and male ; Titanic gods, and sons 
And daughters of old Saturn ; and that band 
Of giant brethren, whom from forth th' abyss 
Of darkness under earth, deliverer Jove 



B. C. 850. J HESIOD. 61 

Sent up to light : grim forms, and strong with force 
Gigantic ; arms of hundred-handed gripe 
Burst from their shoulders ; fifty heads up-sprang 
Cresting their muscular limbs. They thus opposed 
In dismal conflict 'gainst the Titans stood, 
In all their sinewy hands wielding aloft 
Precipitous rocks. On th' other side alert 
The Titan phalanx closed ; then hands of strength 
Join'd prowess, and show'd. forth the works of war. 
Th' immeasurable sea tremendous dash'd 
With roaring, earth resounded, the broad heaven 
Groan'd shattering ; huge Olympus reel'd throughout, 
Down to its rooted base, beneath the rush 
Of those immortals. The dark chasm of hell 
Was shaken with the trembling, with the tramp 
Of hollow footsteps and strong battle-strokes, 
And measureless uproar of wild pursuit. 
So they against each other through the air 
Hurl'd intermix'd their weapons, scattering groans 
Where'er they fell. The voice of armies rose 
With rallying shout through the starr'd firmament, 
And, with a mighty war-cry, both the hosts 
Encountering closed. Nor longer then did Jove 
Curb down his force, but sudden in his soul 
There grew dilated strength, and it was fill'd 
With his omnipotence ; his whole of might 
Broke from him, and the godhead rush'd abroad. 
The vaulted sky, the mount Olympus, flash'd 
With his continual presence, for he pass'd 
Incessant forth, and lighten'd where he trod. 
Thrown from his nervous grasp the lightnings flew 
Reiterated swift ; the whirling flash 
Cast sacred splendor, and the thunderbolt 
Fell. Then on every side the foodfui earth 
Roar'd in the burning flame, and far and near 
The trackless depth of forests crash'd with fire. 
Yea, the broad earth burn'd red, the floods of Nile 
Glow'd, and the desert waters of the sea. ' 
Round and around the Titans' earthy forms 
Roll'd the hot vapor, and on fiery surge 
Stream'd upward, swathing in one boundless blaze 
The purer air of heaven. Keen rush'd the light 
In quivering splendor from the writhen flash ; 
Strong though they were, intolerable smote 
Their orbs of sight, and with bedimming glare 
Scorch'd up their blasted vision. Through the gulf 
Of yawning Chaos the supernal flame 
Spread, mingling fire with darkness. But to see 
With human eye, and hear with ear of man, 
Had been as on a time the heaven and earth 
Met hurtling in mid-air, as nether earth 
Crash'd from the centre, and the wreck of heaven 
6 



62 ARCH1L0CHUS. [b. c. TOO. 

Fell ruining from high.. Not less, when gods 
Grappled with gods, the shout and clang of arms 
Commingled, and the tumult roar'd from heaven. 
The whirlwinds were abroad, and hollow arous'd 
A shaking and a gathering dark of dust, 
Crushing the thunders from the clouds of air, 
Hot thunderbolts and flames, the fiery darts 
Of Jove ; and in the midst of either host 
They bore upon their blast the cry confused 
Of battle, and the shouting. For the din 
Tumultuous of that sight-appalling strife 
Rose without bound. Stern strength of hardy proof 
Wreak'd there its deeds, till weary sank the war. 

Elton. 



ARCHILOCHUS. 

FLOURISHED ABOUT 700 B. C. 

Aeghilochus, of the island of Paros, was one of the earliest lyric 
poets, and the first who composed iambic verses according to fixed 
rules. Though excelling in lyric poetry generally, it was on his sa- 
tiric iambic poetry that his fame was founded ; and so great were his 
merits in this department, that the ancient writers did not hesitate to 
compare him with Sophocles, Pindar, and even Homer. But nothing 
now remains of his writings but a few fragments of a grave and philo- 
sophic cast. 

PATIENCE UNDER SUFFERING. 

0, Pericles ! in vain the feast is spread : 
To mirth and joy the afflicted soul is dead. 
The billows of the deep-resounding sea 
Burst o'er our heads, and drown our revelry ; 
Grief swells our veins with pangs unfelt before ; 
But Jove's high clemency reserves in store 
All-suffering patience for his people's cure : 
The best of healing balms is — to endure. 



EQUANIMITY. 

Spirit ! thou spirit, like a troubled sea, 
Ruffled with deep and hard calamity, 
Sustain the shock : a daring heart oppose ; 
Stand firm, amidst the charging spears of foes 



B. C. 685.] TYRTJEUS. 63 

If conquering, vaunt not in vain-glorious show ; 
If conquer'd, stoop not, prostrated in wo : 
Moderate, in joy, rejoice ; in sorrow, mourn : 
Muse on man's lot : be thine discreetly borne. 



THE TURNS OF FORTUNE. 

Leave the gods to order all things : 

Often from the gulf of wo 
They exalt the poor man, grov'ling 

In the gloomy shades below. 
Often turn again, and prostrate 

Lay in dust the loftiest head, 
Dooming him through life to wander, 

'Reft of sense, and wanting bread. 



TYRTiEUS. 

FLOURISHED ABOUT G85 B. C. 

But very little is known with certainty respecting this spirited 
elegiac and lyric poet. Tradition reports that he was a schoolmaster 
at Athens, and afflicted with lameness ; and that, when the Spartans, 
in the Messenian war, were commanded by the oracle to seek a leader 
from the Athenians, the latter sent, in mockery, Trytseus. But the 
lame schoolmaster proved the safety of Sparta ; for his animating, 
patriotic strains, his exhortations to firmness and resolution in the 
field of battle, written and sung in the enlivening anapestic measure, 
so cheered and encouraged the soldiers that they gained a brilliant 
victory. He left three kinds of poems : 1, his Eunomia, or political 
odes, designed to teach political wisdom and appease civil discords ; 

2, his Elegies, consisting of exhortations to constancy and courage, and 
spirited descriptions of the glory of fighting for one's native land ; and 

3, Embateria, or Marching Songs, which were more spirited composi- 
tions, in the anapestic measure, intended to be performed with the 
music of the flute while the soldiers were marching to battle. But 
few of all these are now extant. 



G4 TYRT^EUS. [b. c. 685. 



IN COMMENDATION OF MILITARY VALOR. 

I would not value, or transmit the fame 

Of him whose brightest worth in swiftness lies ; 

Nor would I chaunt his poor unwarlike name 
Who wins no chaplet but the wrestler's prize. 

In vain, for me, the Cyclops' giant might 
Blends with the beauties of Tithonus' form ; 

In vain the racer's agile powers unite, 

Fleet as the whirlwind of the Thracian storm. 

In vain, for me, the riches round him glow, 

A Midas or a Cinyras possest ; 
Sweet as Adrastus' tongue his accents flow, 

Or Pelops' sceptre seems to stamp him blest. 

Vain all the dastard honors he may boast, 
If his soul thirst not for the martial field ; 

Meet not the fury of the rushing host, 

Nor bear o'er hills of slain the untrembling shield. 

This — this is virtue : this the noblest meed 
That can adorn our youth with fadeless rays ; 

While all the perils of the adventurous deed 
The new-strung vigor of the State repays. 

Amid the foremost of the embattled train, 
Lo, the young hero hails the glowing fight ! 

And, though fall'n troops around him press the plain, 
Still fronts the foe, nor brooks inglorious flight. 

His life — his fervid soul opposed to death, 

He dares the terrors of the field defy ; 
Kindles each spirit with his panting breath, 

And bids his comrade-warriors nobly die ! 

See, see ! dismayed, the phalanx of the foe 
Turns round, and hurries o'er the plain afar ; 

While doubling, as afresh, the deadly blow, 
He rules, intrepid chief, the waves of war ! 

Now fall'n, the noblest of the van, he dies ! 

His city by the beauteous death renowned ; 
His low-bent father marking, where he lies, 

The shield, the breastplate, hacked by many a wound. 

The young, the old, alike commingling tears, 
His country's heavy grief bedews the grave ! 

And all his race, in verdant lustre, wears 

Fame's richest wreath, transmitted bv the brave. 



B. C. 685.] TYRTiEUS. 

Though mixed with earth the perishable clay, 
His name shall live, while Glory loves to tell — 
" True to his country, how he won the day, 

How firm the hero stood, how calm he fell !" 

But if he 'scape the doom of death (the doom 
To long, long, dreary slumbers), he returns 

While trophies flash, and victor-laurels bloom, 
And all the splendor of the triumph burns. 

The old, the young caress him, and adore ; 

And, with the city's love through life repaid, 
He sees each comfort that endears in store, 

Till, the last hour, he sinks to Pluto's shade. 

Old as he droops, the citizens, o'erawed, 

(Ev'n veterans,) to his mellow glories yield ; 

Nor would in thought dishonor or defraud. 
The hoary soldier of the well-fought field. 

Be yours to reach such eminence of fame ; 

To gain such heights of virtue nobly dare, 
My youths ! and, 'mid the fervor of acclaim, 

Press, press to glory ! nor remit the war ! 



Polwhele. 



THE HERO— THE RECREANT. 1 

Glorious it is to emulate the brave ; 

And for a country and a country's right 
To strive, to fall, and gain a bloody grave, 

Amid the foremost heroes in the fight. 

But sad his state who, with his mother dear, 
His aged sire, his babes, and blooming wife, 

Leaves his own city, and the plains that near 
Are smiling, for a beggar's wandering life. 

With looks of scorn shall he by all be seen, 

In want and hateful penury sunk low ; 
For he his race dishonors, and his mien : 

Disgrace and evil close behind him go. 

Tow'rds such a man, while yet he wanders round, 

A care or interest none shall entertain ; 
And, after he no longer here is found, 

No rev'rence for his mem'ry shall remain. 

1 This ode celebrates the glory of his death who falls for his country, and 
paints with great force the wretched condition of him who wanders a men- 
dicant, with his family, far from his native home. 

6* 



G6 ALCyEUS. [fi. C. 610. 

Now fight we for our children for this laud ; 

Our lives unheeding, let us bravely die. 
Courage, ye youths ! together firmly stand ; 

Think not of fear, nor ever turn to fly. 

In fight with men, of life regardless be : 

Now all your breasts inflame with noble rage ; 

Let none e'er basely turn his back to flee, 

And those desert whose knees are stiff with age. 

0, shame it were that, fall'n among the vau, 
Dust soil'd the snowy beard, the hoary head, 

And naked carcass of an aged man, 

Nearer the foe than lay the younger dead ! 

ye, who youth's gay flower as yet can boast ! 

Alive, so beauteous in soft woman's sight, 
Dying, admired by men among the host, 

Brave falling 'mid the foremost in the fight : 

Or, having march'd together in a band, 

To join the foremost in the battle keen, 
With feet apart let each one firmly stand, 

Aud with lip hard compress'd his teeth between. 

Frazer's Magazine. 



ALCJEUS. 

FLOURISHED ABOUT 610 B. C. 

Broke from the fetters of his native land, 

Devoting shame and vengeance to her lords, 
With louder impulse, and a threat'ning hand, 
The Lesbian patriot smites the sounding cords: 
Ye 'wretches, ye perfidious train ! 
Ye curs*d of gods and free-born men ! 
Ye murderers of the laws ! 

Though now ye glory in your lust, 
Though now ye tread the feeble neck in dust, ' 

Yet Time and righteous Jove will judge your dreadful cause. 

Akenside on Lyric Poetry. 

Alcjeus was a native of Mitylene, in Lesbos, and a contemporary 
with Sappho. We know but little of his personal history, but he was 
an ardent friend and defender of liberty as a citizen, and its eulogist 
as a writer. Of all that he wrote, but a few fragments remain ; but 
among the nine principal lyric poets of Greece, some ancient writers 
assign the very first place to Alcaeus. This we know, that his poems 
furnished to Horace not only a metrical model, but also the subject 
matter of some of his most beautiful odes. 



B. C. G10.] ALCiEUS. 07 



THE SPOILS OF WAR. 

Glitters with brass my mansion wide ; 
The roof is deck'd on every side, 

In martial pride, 
With helmets rang'd in order bright, 
And plumes of horse-hair nodding white, 

A gallant sight- 
Fit ornament for warrior's brow — 
And round the walls in goodly row 

Refulgent glow 
Stout greaves of brass, like burnish'd gold, 
And corselets there in many a fold 

Of linen roll'd ; 
And shields that, in the battle fray, 
The routed losers of the day 

Have east away. 
Euboean falchions too are seen, 
With rich-embroidered belts between 

Of dazzling sheen : 
And gaudy surcoats piled around, 
The spoils of chiefs in war renown'd, 

May there be found — 
These, and all else that here you see, 
Are fruits of glorious victory, 

Achieved by me. 

Merivale. 



CONVIVIAL. 1 

Jove descends in sleet and snow, 

Howls the vexed and angry deep ; 
Every stream forgets to flow, 

Bound in winter's icy sleep. 
Ocean wave and forest hoar 
To the blast responsive roar. 

Drive the tempest from your door, 

Blaze on blaze your hearthstone piling, 

And unmeasured goblets pour, 
Brimful high with nectar smiling. 

Then beneath your poet's head 

Be a downy pillow spread. 

Merivale. 

1 Mliller observes that his drinking songs were not invitations to mere 
sensual enjoyment, but connected with reflections on the circumstances of 
the times, or upon man's destiny in general. 



68 THALES, [b. c. 600. 

The following is the first verse of an ode by Sir William Jones, in 
imitation of one by Alcseus, entitled 

WHAT CONSTITUTES A STATE ? 

What constitutes a state ? 
Not high-raised battlement or labor'd mound, 

Thick wall, or moated gate : 
Not cities fair, with spires and turrets crown'd : 

No ! Men — high-minded men — 
With powers as far above dull brutes endued 

In forest, brake, or den, 
As beasts excel cold rocks and brambles rude : 

Men who their duties know, 
Know too their rights, and, knowing, dare maintain ; 

Prevent the long- aimed blow, 
And crush the tyrant while they rend the chain ! 

These constitute a state. 



THE SEVEN WISE MEN OF GREECE. 

FLOUKISHED ABOUT 600 B. C. 

The names generally included under the appellation of the Seven 
Wise Men of Greece are : Thales of Miletus, Solon of Athens, Chilo 
of Laced^emon, Pittacus of Mitylene, Bias of Pkiene, Cleobulus of 
Lindus, Periandek of Corinth. 

THALES. 

Thales was born in Miletus, in Ionia, 640 B. C, and was the founder 
of the Ionic sect,' from which arose the several sects of Academics, 
Peripatetics, Cynics, Stoics, &c. From his earliest years, he was a 
deep student, and would not marry, that he might devote himself 
more exclusively to the study of philosophy. He travelled to Crete 
and to Egypt, and returned to Miletus with a high reputation for wis- 
dom and learning. He made great attainments, for that day, in na- 

1 Consult "History of Philosophy, 1 ' by William Enfield, two vols., which 
is an abridgment of the great work of Brucher ; and Tenneman's " Manual 
of the History of Philosophy," translated by Rev. Arthur Johnson. This 
translation is very severely commented on by one of the deepest thinkers of 
the nineteenth century — Sir William Hamilton. 



B. C. 600.] SOLON. 69 

tural philosophy and mathematics, and is said to have predicted an 
eclipse. He died at the advanced age of ninety years. Many inge- 
nious aphorisms and precepts are attributed to him, of which the fol- 
lowing may be given : — 

MAXIMS. 

Neither the crimes nor the thoughts of bad men are con- 
cealed from the gods. 

Health of body, a competent fortune, and a cultivated mind 
are the chief sources of happiness. 

Parents may expect from their children that obedience which 
they themselves paid to their parents. 

Take more pains to correct the blemishes of the mind than 
those of the face. 

Stop the mouth of slander by prudence. 

Be careful not to do that yourself which you blame in 
another. 



SOLON. 



Solon was born at Salamis, of Athenian parents, about 638 B. C. 
He early applied himself to the study of moral and civil wisdom, and 
was so successful in cultivating the art of poetry, that Plato thought 
that, if he had seriously applied himself to it, he would have equalled 
Homer himself. At a time when great civil dissensions existed at 
Athens, Solon was unanimously chosen, about 596 B. C, to cure the 
public disorders; and so judicious was the code of laws which he in- 
stituted, that it afterwards became the basis of the laws of the Twelve 
Tables of Rome. The fame which he thus acquired reached the re- 
motest parts of the world, and brought many from a great distance to 
Athens to witness the fruits of his wisdom. He died in the island of 
Cyprus, about the eightieth year of his age. 



SOME OF HIS APOTHEGMS. 

Laws are like cobwebs, that entangle the weak, but are 
broken through by the strong. 

Diligently contemplate excellent things. 

He who has learned to obey will know how to command. 

In all things, let reason be your guide. 

In everything that you do, consider the end. 



10 CHILO. [b. c. 600. 

Of his poetry, we have but a few fragments. 



THE CONSTITUTION OF ATHENS. 

The force of snow and furious hail is sent 

From swelling clouds that load the firmament. 

Thence the loud thunders roar, and lightnings glare 

Along the darkness of the troubled air. 

Unmoved by storms, old ocean peaceful sleeps, 

Till the loud tempest swells the angry deeps ; 

And thus the state, in fell distraction tost, 

Oft by its noblest citizens is lost ; 

And oft a people, once secure and free, 

Their own imprudence dooms to tyranny. 

My laws have arm'd the crowd with, useful might, 

Have banished honors and unequal right, 

Have taught the proud in wealth, and high in place, 

To reverence justice and abhor disgrace ; 

And given to both a shield, their guardian tower, 

Against ambitious aims and lawless power. 



REMEMBRANCE AFTER DEATH. 

Let not a death unwept, unhonor'd, be 
The melancholy fate allotted me ! 
But those who loved me living, when I die 
Still fondly keep some cherish'd memory. 



TRUE HAPPINESS. 

The man that boasts of golden stores, 
Of grain, that loads his groaning floors, 
Of fields with freshening herbage green, 
Where bounding steeds and herds are seen, 
I call not happier than the swain, 
Whose limbs are sound, whose food is plain, 
Whose joys a blooming wife endears, 
Whose hours a smiling offspring cheers. 



CHILO. 



Chilo was one of the Ephori at Sparta, and was celebrated for his 
probity and his penetration. He discharged his public duties with 
great uprightness, and lived to a great old age. The following are 
some of his most valuable 



B. C. 600.] PITTACUS. 11 



MAXIMS. 

Never ridicule the unfortunate. 

Three things are difficult : to keep a secret, to bear an in- 
jury patiently, and to spend leisure well. 

Think before you speak. 

Yisit your friends in misfortune, rather than in prosperity. 

Do not desire impossibilities. 

Gold is tried by the touchstone, and men are tried by gold. 

Reverence the aged. 

Honest loss is preferable to shameful gain : for by the one 
a man is a sufferer but once ; by the other, always. 

Speak no evil of the dead. 

In conversation, make use of no violent motion of the hands ; 
in walking, do not appear to be always upon business of life 
or death ; for rapid movements indicate a kind of frenzy. 

Know thyself. 

If you are great, be condescending; for it is better to be 
loved than to be feared. 



PITTACUS. 

Pittacus of Mitylene, in Lesbos, was born about 650 B. C. Such 
were his talents, and such his probity, that he was intrusted withthe 
highest offices by his fellow-citizens. Finding it necessary to lay 
severe restrictions upon drunkenness, to which the Lesbians were 
particularly addicted, he passed a law which subjected offenders of 
this class to double punishment for any crime committed in a state 
of intoxication. The following are some of his 



PRECEPTS. 

The first office of prudence is to foresee threatening misfor- 
tunes, and prevent them. 

Power discovers the man. 

Never talk of your schemes before they are executed ; lest, 
if you fail to accomplish them, you be exposed to the double 
mortification of disappointment and ridicule. 

Whatever you do, do it well. 



12 BIAS — CLEOBULUS. [b. C. 600. 

Do not that to your neighbor, which you would take ill from 
him. 

Be watchful for opportunities. 



BIAS. 



Bias of Priene, in Ionia, acquired the name and honors of a wise 
man chiefly by his generosity and public spirit, which endeared him 
to his countrymen. Several young female captives from Messene, 
having been brought to Priene, Bias redeemed them, educated them 
as his own daughters, and then restored them, with a dowry, to their 
parents. The following are some of the remains of 



HIS SENTENTIOUS WISDOM. 

It is a proof of a weak and disordered mind to desire im- 
possibilities. 

The greatest infelicity is, not to be able to endure misfor- 
tunes patiently. 

Great minds alone can support a sudden reverse of fortune. 

The most pleasant state is, to be always gaining. 

Be not unmindful of the miseries of others. 

If you are handsome, do handsome things; if deformed, 
supply the defects of nature by your virtues. 

Be slow in undertaking, but resolute in executing. 

Praise not a worthless man for the sake of his wealth. 

Whatever good you do, ascribe it to the gods. 

Lay in wisdom as the store for your journey from youth to 
old age, for it is the most certain possession. 

Many men are dishonest ; therefore, love your friend with 
caution,- for he may hereafter become your enemy. 



CLEOBULUS. 

Cleobulus of Lindus, in Rhodes, excelled all his contemporaries in 
bodily strength and beauty. He visited Egypt in pursuit of wisdom, 
and acquired great skill in the solution of enigmas and obscure ques- 
tions, for which he was chiefly famous. The following are some of his 



li. C. 600. J PERIANDER, T3 



PRUDENTIAL MAXIMS. 

Be kind to your friends, that they may continue such; aud 
to your enemies, that they may become your friends. 

Happy is the family where the master is more loved than 
feared. 

When you go abroad, consider what you have to do ; when 
you return home, what you have done. 

Marry among your equals, that you may not become a slave 
to your wife's relations. 

Be more desirous to hear than to speak. 

Avoid excess. 



PERIANDER. 

The last in order of the Seven Wise Men is Periander of Corinth, of 
which city he was the chief magistrate. He gave great offence to his 
lnxurious and indolent countrymen by the rigor of his discipline, but 
the inscription upon his tomb *at Corinth proves that they honored 
him as a wise and able ruler. He died 585 B. C, aged about eighty 
years. The following are some of his 



MORAL SENTENCES. 

Let the prince who would reign securely trust rather to the 
affection of his subjects than to the force of arms. 
Pleasure is precarious, but virtue is immortal. 
Conceal your misfortunes. 
Study to be worthy of your parents. 
There is nothing which prudence cannot accomplish. 



14 ANACREON. [b. C. 550. 



ANACREON. 

FLOURISHED ABODT 550 B. C. 

/ 

I see Anacreon smile and sing, 

His silver tresses breathe perfume ; 
His cheek displays a second spring, 

Of roses taught by wine to bloom. 
Away, deceitful cares, away, 
And let me listen to his lay ; 

Let me the wanton pomp enjoy, 
While in smooth dance the light-wing'd hours 
Lead l-ound his lyre its patron powers — 

Kind laughter and convivial joy. 

Akenside. 

This gay and luxurious poet was born at Teos, a city on the coast 
of Ionia, in Asia Minor. But little is known of his personal history. 
He lived for many years at the court of Polycrates, the monarch of 
Samos, when Hipparchus invited him to Athens, sending a vessel of 
fifty oars to convey him thither. Here he lived till the death of 
Hipparchus, when he returned to his native country, where he died 
at the advanced age of eighty-five. As to his character, the universal 
tradition of antiquity represents him as a most consummate volup- 
tuary, and his poems prove the trutli of the assertion. Most of his 
odes that have come down to us are in praise of wine, and of the ap- 
petite which is so often and so falsely dignified by the name of love. 
But they are matchless in their kind ; replete with such delicacy and 
grace as to render all attempts to translate them into the English lan- 
guage altogether unsatisfactory.' 



CURE FOR CARE. 

When my thirsty soul I steep, 
Every sorrow 's lulled to sleep. 
Talk of monarchs ! I am then 
Richest, happiest, first of men ; 
Careless o'er nay cup I sing, 
Fancy makes me more than king; 

i The best editions of Anacreon are : Mattaire"s Greek and Latin quarto, 
printed by Bowyer, London, 1778 — a splendid, as well as very accurate, edi- 
tion ; Brunck, Strasbux-g, 1786 ; Fischer, Leipsic, 1793 j and Bergk, Leipsic, 
1834. Cowley translated twelve odes happily and with much spirit. Fawke's 
translation is more faithful to the original, but is destitute of the spirit of the 
poet. Elton's versions are much better; but Thomas Moore exceeds them 
all in sprightliness, elegance, and harmony, and in presenting his author to 
the English reader in a spirit congenial with that of the Grecian. 



B. C. 550.] ANACREON. ?5 

Gives me wealthy Croesus' store — 
Ought I, can I, wish for more ? 
On my velvet couch reclining, 
Ivy leaves my brow entwining, 
All my soul elate with glee — 
What are kings and crowns to me ? 

Arm ye, arm ye, men of might, 
Hasten to the sanguine fight ; 
But let me, my budding vine ! 
Spill no other blood but thine. 
Yonder brimming goblet see, 
That alone shall vanquish me — 
Who think it better, wiser far 
To fall in banquet than in war. 

Moore. 



GOLD. 

Yes — loving is a painful thrill, 

And not to love more painful still ; 

But oh, it is the worst of pain 

To love, and not be loved again ! 

Affection now has fled from earth, 

Nor fire of genius, noble birth, 

Nor heavenly virtue, can beguile 

From beauty's cheek one favoring smile. 

Gold is the woman's only theme, 

Gold is the woman's only dream. 

O, never be that wretch forgiven ! 

Forgive him not, indignant heaven ! 

Whose grovelling eyes could first adore, 

Whose heart could pant for sordid ore. 

Since that devoted thirst began. 

Man has forgot to feel for man ; 

The pulse of social life is dead, 

And all its fonder feelings fled ! 

War, too, has sullied Nature's charms, 

For gold provokes the world to arms : 

And oh, the worst of all its arts, 

It rends asunder loving hearts. 

Moore. 



THE GRASSHOPPER. 

Happy insect ! what can be 
In happiness compar'd to thee ? 
Fed with nourishment divine, 
The dewy morning's gentle wine ! 
Nature waits upon thee still, 
And thy verdant cup dost fill ; 



ANACREON. [b. C. 550. 

; Tis filled "wherever thou dost tread. 

Nature's self 's thy Ganymede. 

Thou dost drink, and dance, and sing ; 

Happier than the happiest king ! 

All the fields which thou dost see, 

All the plants belong to thee ; 

All that summer hours produce ; 

Fertile made with early juice. 

Man for thee does sow and plough ; 

Farmer he, and landlord thou ! 

Thou dost innocently joy ; 

Nor does thy luxury destroy ; 

The shepherd gladly heareth thee, 

More harmonious than he. 

Thee country hinds with gladness hear, 

Prophet of the ripen'd year ! 

Thee Phcebus loves, and does inspire ; 

Phoebus is himself thy sire. 

To thee, of all things upon earth, 

Life 's no longer than thy mirth. 

Happy insect, happy, thou 

Dost neither age nor winter know ; 

But, when thou 'at drunk, and danc'd, and sung 

Thy fill, the flowery leaves among 

(Voluptuous and wise withal, 

Epicurean animal 1) — 

Sated with thy summer feast. 

Thou retir'st to endless rest. 

Cowley. 

CUPID AND THE BEE. 

Cupid once upon a bed 

Of roses laid his weary head ; 

Luckless urchin, not to see 

Within the leaves a slumbering bee ! 

The bee awaked — with anger wild, 

The bee awaked, and stung the child. 

Loud and piteous are his cries ; 

To Venus quick he runs, he flies : 

" 0, mother ! I am wounded through ; 

I die with pain — in sooth I do ! 

Stung by some little angry thing — 

Some serpent on a tiny wing ; 

A bee it was — for once, I know, 

I heard a rustic call it so." 

Thus he spoke, and she the while 

Heard him with a soothing smile ; 

Then said : " My infant, if so much 

Thou feel the little wild-bee's touch, 

How must the heart, ah, Cupid, be, 

The hapless heart, that 's stung by thee ?" 

Moore. 



B. C. 550.] ANACREON. 11 



RETURN OF SPRING. 1 

Behold ! the young, the rosy Spring 
Gives to the breeze her scented wing ; 
While virgin Graces, warm with May, 
Fling roses o'er her dewy way. 
The murmuring billows of the deep 
Have languish'd into silent sleep ; 
And mark ! the flitting sea-birds lave 
Their plumes in the reflecting wave ; 
While cranes from hoary winter fly, 
To flutter in a kinder sky. 
Now the genial star of day 
Dissolves the murky clouds away ; 
And cultur'd field and winding stream 
Are freshly glittering in his beam. 

Now the earth prolific swells 
With leafy buds and flowery bells ; 
Gemming shoots the olive twine, 
Clusters ripe festoon the vine ; 
All along the branches creeping, 
Through the velvet foliage peeping, 
Little infant fruits we see, 
Nursing into luxury. 



Moon 



THE CARRIER PIGEON. 2 

Tell me why, my sweetest dove, 
Thus your humid pinions move, 
Shedding through the air in showers 
Essence of the balmiest flowers ? 
Tell me whither, whence you rove ; 
Tell me all, my sweetest dove." 



i Barnes conjectures, in his life of our poet, that this ode was written after 
he had returned from Athens to settle in his paternal seat at Teos ; where, 
in a little villa at some distance from the city, commanding a view of the 
JEgean Sea and the islands, he contemplated the beauties of nature, and 
enjoyed the felicities of retirement. 

* The dove of Anacreon, bearing a letter from the poet to his mistress, is 
met by a stranger, with whom this dialogue is imagined. The ancients made 
use of letter-carrying pigeons, when they went any distance from home, as 
the most certain means of conveying intelligence back. That tender do- 
mestic attachment, which attracts this delicate little bird through every dan 
ger and difficulty, till it settles in its native nest, affords to the author of 
"The Pleasures of Memory" a fine and interesting exemplification of his 
subject : — 

" Led by what chart, transports the timid dove 
The wreaths of conquest, or the vows of love?" 

7* 



78 ANACREOX. [b. c. 550. 

' : Cnrious stranger, I belong 
To the hard of Teian song ; 
With his mandate now I fly 
To the nymph of azure eye : 
She whose eye has madden'd many, 
But the poet more than any. 
Venus, for a hymn of love, 
Warbled in her votive grove, 
('Twas, in sooth, a gentle lay.) 
Gave me to the bard away. 1 
See me now his faithful minion — 
Thus, with softly- gliding pinion. 
To his lovely girl I bear 
Songs of passion through the air. 
Oft he blandly whispers me : 
'Soon, my bird, I'll set>you free.' 
But in vain he'll bid me fly ; 
I shall serve him till I die. 
Never could my plumes sustain 
Ruffling winds and chilling rain : 
O'er the plains, or in the dell, 
On the mountain's savage swell, 
Seeking in the desert wood 
Gloomy shelter, rustic food. 
Now I lead a life of ease, 
Far from rugged haunts like these. 
From Anacreon's hand I eat 
Food delicious, viands sweet ; 
Flutter o'er his goblet's brim, 
Sip the foamy wine with him. 
Then, when I have wanton'd round 
To his lyre's beguiling sound ; 
Or, with gently -moving wings, 
Fann'd the minstrel while he sings : 
On his harp I sink in slumbers, 
Dreaming still of dulcet numbers ! 

This is all — away— away — 
You have made me waste the day. 
How I've chatter'd ! prating crow 
Never yet did chatter so."' 

Moore. 



WHEN SPRING ADORNS THE DEWY SCENE. 

When spring adorns the dewy scene, 
How sweet to walk the velvet green, 

1 "This passage is invaluable, and I do not think anything so beautiful 
or so delicate has ever been said. What an idea does it give of the poetry of 
the man, from whom Venus herself, the mother of the Graces and the Plea- 
sures, purchases a little hymn with one of her favorite doves ; '* — Longepierre. 



B. C. 550.] ANACREON. ?9 

And hear the west wind's gentle sighs, 
As o'er the scented mead it flies ! 
How sweet to mark the pouting vine, 
Ready to burst in tears of wine ; 
And with some maid, who breathes but love, 
To walk, at noontide, through the grove, 
Or sit in some cool, green recess — 
0, is not this true happiness ? 



Moor 



€. 



THE ROSE. 1 

While we invoke the wreathed spring, 

Resplendent rose ! to thee we'll sing : 

Resplendent rose, the flower of flowers, 

Whose breath perfumes th' Olympian bowers ; 

Whose virgin blush, of chasten'd dye, 

Enchants so much our mortal eye. 

When pleasure's spring-tide season glows, 

The Graces love to wreathe the rose ; 

And Venus, in its fresh-blown leaves, 

An emblem of herself perceives. 

Oft hath the poet's magic tongue 

The rose's fair luxuriance sung ; 

And long the Muses, heavenly maids, 

Have rear'd it in their tuneful shades. 

When, at the early glance of morn, 

It sleeps upon the glittering thorn, 

'Tis sweet to dare the tangled fence, 

To cull the timid flowret thence, 

And wipe with tender hand away 

The tear that on its blushes lay ! 

'Tis sweet to hold the infant stems, 

Yet dropping with Aurora's gems. 

And fresh inhale the spicy sighs 

That from the weeping buds arise. 

When revel reigns, when mirth is high, 
And Bacchus beams in every eye, 
Our rosy fillets scent exhale, 
And fill with balm the fainting gale. 
There's naught in nature bright or gay, 
Where roses do not shed their ray. 
When morning paints the orient skies, 
Her fingers burn with roseate dyes ; 
Young nymphs betray the rose's hue, 
O'er whitest arms it kindles through. 
In Cytherea's form it glows, 
And mingles with the living snows. 

1 This ode is a brilliant panegyric on the rose. "All antiquity," says 
Barnes, "lias produced nothing more beautiful." 



80 SIMONIDES. [b. c. 500. 

The rose distils a healing halm, 
The heating pulse of pain to calm ; 
Preserves the cold, inurned clay, ' 
And mocks the vestige of decay : 2 
And when at length, in pale decline, 
Its florid beauties fade and pine, 
Sweet as in youth, its balmy breath 
Diffuses odor even in death! 
Oh ! whence could such a plant have sprung ? 
Listen — for thus the tale is sung : 
When, humid from the silvery stream, 
Effusing beauty's warmest beam, 
Venus appear'd, in flushing hues, 
Mellow'd by ocean's briny dews ; 
When, in the starry courts above, 
The pregnant brain of mighty Jove 
Disclos'd the nymph of azure glance, 
The nymph who shakes the martial lance ; 
Then, then, in strange eventful hour, 
The earth produc'd an infant flower, 
Which sprung, in blushing glories drest, 
And wanton'd o'er its parent breast. 
The gods beheld this brilliant birth, 
And hailed the Rose, the boon of earth ! 
With nectar drops, a ruby tide, 
The sweetly orient buds they dyed, 
And bade them bloom, the flowers divine 
Of him who gave the glorious vine ; 
And bade them on the spangled thorn 
Expand their bosoms to the morn. 

Moore. 



SIMONIDES. 

FLOURISHED AEOUT 500 B. C. 

Simoxides, one of the most celebrated lyric poets of Greece, was born 
in the island of Ceos, about 556 B. C, and lived to the advanced age 
of eighty-nine. That his genius was held in the highest estimation 
by the learned of his own age, we may infer from the honors with 
which he was welcomed at Sparta by Pausanias, the Lacedemonian 

1 He here alludes to the use of the rose in embalming ; and, perhaps (as 
Barnes thinks), to the rosy unguent with which Venus anointed the corpse 
of Hector. 

2 When he says that this flower prevails over time itself, he still alludes 
to its efficacy in embalmment. 



B. C. 500.] SIMONIDES. 81 

general, and from the fact that Hiero, the accomplished monarch of 
Syracuse, particularly valued his compositions for their pathos, ele- 
gance, and sweetness, preferring the effusions of his muse even to the 
sublimer strains of Pindar. This, of course, is exaggerated praise; 
but though, as a lyric poet, he is inferior to the Theban bard — not 
having that sublime beauty, or that variety of imagery and illustra- 
tion — he is still without a superior in the neatness and elegance of his 
epigrams, and the mournful and affectionate strains of his elegiac 
poetry. His poetical writings, composed in the Doric dialect, con- 
sisted of lyrics, elegies, epigrams, and dramatical pieces, and it is said 
that he composed an epic poem on Cambyses, King of Persia. At the 
age of eighty, he carried off the prize for poetry at Athens, and died 
at Syracuse, at the court of Hiero, 467 B. C, in his ninetieth year. 



LAMENTATION OF DANAE. 1 

Whilst, around her lone ark sweeping, 

Wailed the winds and waters wild, 
Her young cheeks all wan with weeping, 

Danae clasped her sleeping child ; 
And " alas I" cried she, " my dearest, 

What deep wrongs, what woes are mine ; 
But nor wrongs nor woes thou fearest, 

In that sinless rest of thine. 
Faint the moonbeams break above thee, 

And, within here, all is gloom ; 
But, fast wrapt in arms that love thee, 

Little reck'st thou of our doom. 
Not the rude spray, round thee flying, 

Has e'en damped thy clustering hair ; — 
On thy purple mantlet lying, 

0, mine Innocent, my Fair ! 
Yet, to thee were sorrow sorrow, 

Thou would'st lend thy little ear, 
And this heart of thine might borrow, 

Haply, yet a moment's cheer. 
But, no : slumber on, babe, slumber ; 

Slumber, ocean waves ; and you, 
My dark troubles, without number, — 

0, that ye would slumber too ! 

1 This poem is based upon the tradition that Danae and her infant son 
were confined, by order of her father Acrisius, in a chest, and set adrift on 
the sea. The chest floated towards the island of Seriphus, where both were 
rescued by Dictys, a fisherman, and carried to Polydectes, king of the coun- 
try, who received and protected them. The boy grew up to manhood, and 
became the famous hero Perseus. 



82 SIMONIDES. [b. c. 500. 

Though with wrongs they've brimmed my chalice, 

Grant, Jove, that, in future years, 
This boy may defeat their malice, 

And avenge his mother's tears." 



W. Peters 



THE UNCERTAINTY OF LIFE. 



ugh, \ 
die. J 



There's naught on earth but flits or fades away, 

And well, indeed, the Chian bard might say : 

"The race of men is as the race of leaves !" 

Yet who — though many an ear this truth receives— 

Imprints it on his heart ? For Hope's fond tongue 

Can dupe the old, as it has dup'd the young. 

O, as we tread on youth's unfolding flowers, 

What wild, impracticable schemes are ours ' 

0, how we chase the shadows as they fly ; 

No dread, midst health, of pain or troubles nigh, 

No thought that man is born to suffer and to 

Fools ! dreamers ! not to know how small the span 

Of youth and life allowed to mortal man ! 

But thou — let wiser thoughts thy soul employ, 

Nor fear, while life endures, life's pleasures to enjov. 2 

W. Peter. 



VIRTUE. 

Encircled by her heaven-bright band 
On a rough steep doth Virtue stand, 

And he, who hopes to win the goal, 
To manhood's height who would aspire— 
Must spurn each sensual low desire, 
Must never falter, never tire, 

But on, with sweat-drops of the soul. 3 



W. Peter. 



1 This translation of our late gifted English Consul, William Peter, Esq., 
is superior, I think, to Lord Denman's, which may be found in Bland's 
Greek Anthology. 

2 Contrast with the above elegy Dr. Doddridge's paraphrase of " Dum 
vivimus vivamus." 

"Live while you live" — the Epicure would say — 
"And give to pleasure every passing day :" 
"Live while you live" — the sacred preacher cries — 
"And give to God each moment as it flies." 
Lord, in my view, let both united be — 
I live to pleasure, while I live to Thee! 

3 Spenser has a similar sentiment : — 

In woods, in waves, in wars, she wont to dwell, 
And will be found with peril and with pain, 
Ne can the man, who moulds in idle cell, 
Unto her happy mansion e'er attain ; 



B. C. 500.] SIMONIDES. 83 



ANOTHER VERSION OF THE SAME. 

Virtue delights her home to keep — 
Say the wise of the olden time — 

High on a rugged rocky steep, 
Which man may hardly climb : 

And there a pure, bright, shining band, 

Her ministers, around her stand. 

No mortal man may ever look, 

That form august to see, 
Until with patient toil he brook 

The sweat of mental agony : 
Which all must do, who reach that goal, 
The perfect manhood of the soul. 



Ha, 



CERTAINTY OF DEATH. 

Human strength is unavailing ; 
Boastful tyranny unfailing ; 
All in life is care and labor ; 
And our unrelenting neighbor, 
Death, forever hovering round ; 
Whose inevitable wound, 
When he comes prepar'd to strike, 
Good and bad will feel alike. 

W. Peter. 



THE FOUR BEST THINGS. 

It is the best thing for a mortal man to be in health; the second, 
to be born with a good form ; the third, to be rich without trickery ; 
and the fourth, to be in the prime of life, in the society of friends. 

The first of mortal joys is health ; 
Next beauty ; and the third is wealth ; 
The fourth, all youth's delights to prove 
With those we love. 

Before her gate High God did sweat ordain 

And wakeful watches ever to abide ; 

But easy is the way and passage plain 

To Pleasure's palace ; it may soon be spied, 

And, day and night, her doors to all stand open wide. 

Faerie Queen, B, ii, c. 3, 



84 ^SCHYLUS. [b. c. 490. 



iESCHYLUS. 

FLOURISHED ABOUT 490 B. C. 

vEschylus, the first in point of time of the great dramatic poets of 
Greece, was born at Eleusis, in Attica, 525 B. C. He was contempo- 
rary with Simonides and Pindar, and distinguished himself in the 
battles of Marathon, Salamis, and Platsea. He may justly be styled 
the father of Grecian tragedy ; for the rude attempts of Thespis 1 hardly 
deserve that name. His first representations were exhibited when he 
had scarcely attained his twenty-fifth year. He seems to have con- 
ceived as well as executed the plan of a theatre ; to have given to the 
dialogue its bounds, to the chorus its office, and to the whole play 
greater unity of action ; to have invented the mask and the buskin ; 
and to have planned the mechanism of the stage, and embellished it 
with the most appropriate and magnificent scenery : in short, he gave 
the Grecian tragedy its complete form. 

JEschylus wrote sixty-six dramas, in thirteen of which he obtained 
a victory over all his rivals. This success was mostly gained in the 
fourteen years between B. C. 484, the first year of his tragic victory, 
and the close of the Persian war by Cymon's illustrious achievements 
at the Eurymedon, B. C. 470. Two years after this (B. C. 468), he was 
defeated by his younger rival Sophocles, and the same year he retired 
to the court of Hiero, king of Syracuse, where he found the lyric poet 
Simonides, and where he was most hospitably entertained. He lived 
for several years after this at Gela, in Sicily, in dignified repose, and 
died there B. C. 456, in the sixty-ninth year of his age. The manner 
of his death was very remarkable : an eagle, mistaking the bald head 
of the poet, while asleep, for a stone, let a tortoise fall upon it, for the 
purpose of breaking its shell ; and thus, it is said, the oracle was ful- 
filled — that he should die by a blow from heaven. 

Of the sixty-six tragedies which iEschylus wrote, but seven have 
come down to us : the Persians, the Seven against Thebes, the Sup- 
pliants, the Prometheus, the Agamemnon, the Choephorse, and the Eu- 
menides. 

The subject of the Persians is the triumph of Greece over the Per- 
sian power ; and in his descriptions of battle-scenes no one can fail to 
see that the language is inspired by the enthusiasm of one who was 
an actor in the exploits which he so vividly paints. 



1 See the authors Compendium of Grecian Antiquities, p 142. 






B. C. 490.] ^ESCHYLUS. 85 

The Seven against Thebes is next in chronological order. It connects 
the destinies of Thebes with the terrible curse pronounced by (Edipus 
on his sons Ete-ocles and Polyni-ces, and fulfilled in their unnatural 
and deadly strife. 1 

The Suppliants is one of the poet's least interesting pieces. It gives 
an account of the arrival of Danaus in Argos with his daughters, who 
were flying from the sons of iEgyptus, who sought them in marriage ; 
the protection afforded them by Pelasgus, the monarch of that city, 
and his refusal to surrender them to their persecutors. This play is, 
however, interesting as affording a pleasing portrait of the hospitality 
and regard to justice which prevailed in Greece in its rudest times. 

The Prometheus Chained is the middle nnk of a trilogy, 2 the first of 
which was the Prometheus the Fire-Bringer, the third the Prometheus 
Unbound. The first represents man's inventive genius in the gift of 
fire, and all those arts and blessings which would accompany such a 
gift. But, vain of his discovery, he becomes arrogant, impious, and 
defiant of heaven ; and hence, in the second play, his punishment 
begins. Nothing can be grander than the scenery in which the poet 
has made his hero suffer. He is chained to a desolate and stupendous 
rock at the extremity of earth's remotest wilds, frowning over old 
ocean. The daughters of Oceanus, who constitute the chorus of the 
tragedy, come to comfort and calm him ; and even the aged Oceanus 
himself, and afterwards Mercury, do all they can to persuade him to 
submit to his oppressor, Jupiter. But all to no purpose ; he sternly and 
triumphantly refuses. Meanwhile, the tempest rages, the lightnings 
flash upon the rock, the sands are torn up by whirlwinds, the seas are 
dashed against the sky, and all the artillery of heaven is levelled 
against his bosom, while he proudly defies the vengeance of his tyrant, 

1 When (Edipus, in his madness, had torn out his eyes, and was driven 
forth from his kingdom, Thebes, his daughter Antigone alone shared his 
wanderings, remained with him till he died, and then returned to Thebes. 
Her brothers, Eteocles and Polynices, had agreed to share the kingdom be- 
tween them, and each reign on alternate years. The first year fell to the lot 
of Eteocles, but, at the end of the year, he refused to surrender the kingdom 
to his brother Polynices, who thereupon fled to Adrastus, king of Argos. 
He gave him his daughter in marriage, and aided him with an army to en- 
force his claims to his kingdom. This led to the celebrated expedition of 
the Seven against Thebes, which furnished such ample materials for the epic 
and tragic poets of Greece. The English reader will find "The Age of 
Fable," by Thomas Bulfinch, a very instructive book for reading, as well as 
for constant reference, on subjects connected with the poetry and the my- 
thology of Greece and Rome. 

3 A series of three dramas, which, although each of them is in one sense 
complete, yet bear a mutual relation, and form but parts of one historical 
picture, corresponding to the Parts I., II., and III. of Henry VI. of Shak- 
speare. • 

8 



86 ^ESCHYLUS. [b. c. 490. 

and sinks into the earth to the lower regions, calling on the powers of 
justice to visit his wrongs. This is considered as the poet's master- 
piece ; and in the grand and suhlime defiance of Prometheus, he de- 
signs, as it is thought, to exhibit the free and undaunted will of man 
triumphing over overwhelming difficulties from without. 

The last three plays of our poet which, fortunately, are extant, form 
also a complete trilogy. The legend which it embodies is that of 
Orestes, and the three dramas which form it are — the Agamemnon, the 
Choephorae, and the Eumenides. The subject of the Agamemnon is the 
sin and punishment of that monarch. His sin is ambition ; his pun- 
ishment, ruin and death in the moment of triumph and prosperity. 
In the furtherance of his ambitious views, he has been regardless of 
human life, and has, by the sacrifice of his daughter Iphigenia, shown 
himself insensible to natural affection. He himself is murdered by 
his wife Clytemnestra and her paramour JEgisthus. 

The Choephoras contains the mortal revenge of Orestes. It is the 
longest and most finished of the seven tragedies, and in it the poet 
evidently makes it his great object to display distinctly the deep dis- 
tress of Orestes at the necessity he feels of revenging his father's 
death upon his mother. 1 

In the Eumenides, the consequences of this doubtful revenge of 
Orestes in putting to death his own mother for her wickedness and un- 
natural crimes, are magnificently developed, and the whole series of 
tragic action conducted to a placid repose. Orestes is tried before the 
court of Areopagus ; the ballots are even ; and Minerva throws the ball 
of mercy into the urn, and thus the accused is acquitted. 2 

i To this Byrqn alludes in the fourth canto of " Childe Harold:" — 

O thou ! who never yet of human wrong 
Left the unbalanced scale — great Nemesis ! 
Thou who didst call the Furies from the abyss, 
And round Orestes bade them howl and hiss, 
For that unnatural retribution — just, 
Had it but been from hands less near — in this, 
Thy former realm, I call thee from the dust! 

2 The best edition of iEschylus is that of Samuel Butler, Cantab. 1809-15, 
in eight volumes, 8vo., with Latin version, notes, &c. The translation in 
Valpey's Classical Library is by R. Potter, two volumes. The late British 
Consul at Philadelphia, Wm. Peter, Esq., published a very finished version 
of the Agamemnon. The student will find the Latin-English Lexicon of 
iEschylus a great aid in reading this author; but much better than this is 
the Greek-English Lexicon of Rev. William Linwood, M. A., London, 1847, 
most beautifully printed. 



b. c. 490 ] Aeschylus. 87 

DESCRIFHON OF THE BATTLE OF SALAMIS. 

[From the Persians.'] 

The Persian chief, 
Little conceiving of the wiles of Greece 
And gods averse, to all the naval leaders 
Gave his high charge : " Soon as yon sun shall cease 
To dart his radiant beams, and dark'ning night 
Ascends the temple of the sky, arrange 
In three divisions your well-ordered ships, 
And guard each pass, each outlet of the seas : 
Others enring around this rocky isle 
Of Salamis. Should Greece escape her fate, 
And work her way by secret flight, your heads 
Shall answer the neglect." This harsh command 
He gave, exulting in his mind, nor knew 
What Fate design'd. With martial discipline 
And prompt obedience, snatching a repast, 
Each mariner fix'd well his ready oar. 
Soon as the golden sun was set, and night 
Advanced, each train'd to ply the dashing oar, 
Assumed his seat ; in arms each warrior stood, 
Troop cheering troop through all the ships of war. 
Each to the appointed station steers his course ; 
And through the night his naval force each chief 
Fix'd to secure the passes. Night advanced, 
But not by secret flight did Greece attempt 
To escape. The morn, all beauteous to behold, 
Drawn by white steeds bounds o'er the enlighten'd earth ; 
At once from every Greek, with glad acclaim, 
Burst forth the song of war, whose lofty notes . 
The echo of the island rocks return'd, 
Spreading dismay through Persia's host, thus fallen 
From their high hopes ; no flight this solemn strain 
Portended, but deliberate valor bent 
On daring battle ; while the trumpet's sound 
Kindled the flames of war. But when their oars, 
(The paean ended,) with impetuous force 
Dash'd the resounding surges, instant all 
Rush'd on in view ; in orderly array 
The squadron on the right first led, behind 
Rode their whole fleet ; and now distinct we heard 
From ev'ry part this voice of exhortation : — 
" Advance, ye sons of Greece, from thraldom save 
Your country — save your wives, your children save, 
The temples of your gods, the sacred tomb 
Where rest your honor'd ancestors ; this day 
The common cause of all demands your valor." 
Meantime from Persia's hosts the deep'iring shout 
Answer'd their shout ; no time for cold delay ; 



88 AESCHYLUS. [b. c. 490. 

But ship 'gainst ship its brazen beak impell'd. 

First to the charge a Grecian galley rush'd ; 

111 the Phoenician bore the rough attack, 

Its sculptured prow all shatter'd. Each advanced 

Daring an opposite. The deep array 

Of Persia at the first sustain'd the encounter ; 

But their throng'd numbers, in the narrow seas 

Confined, want room for action ; and, deprived 

Of mutual aid, beaks clash with beaks, and each 

Breaks all the other's oars ; with skill disposed 

The Grecian navy circled them around 

In fierce assault ; and, rushing from its height, 

The inverted vessel sinks : the sea no more 

Wears its accustomed aspect, with foul wrecks 

And blood disfigured ; floating carcasses 

Roll on the rocky shores : the poor remains 

Of the barbaric armament to flight 

Ply every oar inglorious : onward rush 

The Greeks amidst the ruins of the fleet, 

As through a shoal of fish caught in the net, 

Spreading destruction : the wide ocean o'er 

Wailings are heard, and loud laments, till night, 

With darkness on her brow, brought grateful truce. 

Should I recount each circumstance of wo, 

Ten times on my unfinished tale the sun 

Would set ; for be assured that not one day 

Could close the ruin of so vast a host. 



THE SACRIFICE OF IPHIGENIA. 

[From the Agamemnon .] 
STKOPHE I. 

thou, that sitt'st supreme above, 

Whatever name thou deign'st to hear, 
Unblamed may I pronounce thee Jove ! 
Immersed in deep and holy thought, 
If rightly I conjecture aught, 

Thy power I must revere : 
Else, vainly toss'd, the anxious mind 
Nor truth, nor calm repose can find. 
Feeble and helpless to the light 

The proudest of man's race arose, 
Though now, exulting in his might, 

Dauntless he rushes on his foes ; 
Great as he is, in dust he lies ; 
He meets a greater, and he dies. 

AXTISTROPHE I. 

He that, when conquest brightens round, 

Swells the triumphant strain to Jove, 
Shall ever with success be crown'd. 






B. C. 490.] iESCIIYLUS. 89 

Yet often, when to wisdom's seat 
Jove deigns to guide man's erring feet, 

His virtues to improve, 
He to Affliction gives command 
To form him with her chast'ning hand : 
The memory of her rigid lore, 

On the sad heart imprinted deep, 
Attends him through day's active hour, 

Nor in the night forsakes his sleep. 
Instructed thus thy grace we own, 
thou, that sitt'st on heaven's high throne ! 



ANTISTEOPHE II. 

When, in Diana's name, the seer 

Pronounced the dreadful remedy, 
More than the stormy sea severe, 
Each chieftain stood in grief profound, 
And smote his sceptre on the ground : 

Then, with a rising sigh, 
The monarch, whilst the big tears roll, 
Express'd the anguish of his soul: — 
" Dreadful the sentence : not to obey, 

Vengeance and ruin close us round : 
Shall then the sire his daughter slay, 

In youth's fresh bloom with beauty crown 'd ? 
Shall on these hands her warm blood flow ? 
Cruel alternative of wo ! 

STROPHE III. 

" This royal fleet, this martial host, 
The cause of Greece shall I betray, 

Tlie monarch in the father lost ? 

To calm these winds, to smooth this flood, 

Diana's wrath a virgin's blood 
Demands : 'tis ours to obey." 

Bound in necessity's iron chain, 
Reluctant nature strives in vain : 
Impure, unholy thoughts succeed, 

And dark'ning o'er his bosom roll ; 
Whilst madness prompts the ruthless deed, 

Tyrant of the misguided soul : 
Stern on the fleet he rolls his eyes, 
And dooms the hateful sacrifice. 

ANTISTEOPHE III. 

Arm'd in a woman's cause, around 
Fierce for the war the princes rose ; 

No place affrighted Pity found. 

In vain the virgin's streaming tear, 

Her cries in vain, her pleading prayer, 
Her agonizing woes. 

8* 



90 AESCHYLUS. [b. c. 490. 

Could the fond father hear unmoved ? 
The Fates decreed : the king approved : 
Then to the attendants gave command 

Decent her flowing robes to hind ; 
Prone on the altar with strong hand 

To place her like a spotless hind ; 
And check her sweet voice, that no sound 
Unhallow'd might the rites confound. 



Rent on the earth her maiden veil she throws, 
That emulates the rose ; 
And on the sad attendants rolling 
The trembling lustre of her dewy eyes, 

Their grief-impassion'd souls controlling, 

That ennobled, modest grace, 
Which the mimic pencil tries 
In the imaged form to trace, 
The breathing picture shows : 
And as, amidst his festal pleasures, 

Her father oft rejoiced to hear 
Her voice in soft mellifluous measures 
"Warble the sprightly-fancied air ; 
So now in act to speak the virgin stands : 

But when, the third libation paid, 
She heard her father's dread commands 
Enjoining silence, she obey'd: 
And for her country's good, 
With patient, meek, submissive mind 
To her hard fate resign'd, 

Pour'd out the rich stream of her blood. 



THE NAME HELEN. 1 

Who gave her a name 
So true to her fame ? 
Does a Providence rule in the fate of a word ? 
Sways there in heaven a viewless power 
O'er the chance of the tongue in the naming hour ? 

Who gave her a name, 
This daughter of strife, this daughter of shame, 
The spear-wooed maid of Greece ? 
Helen the taker ! 'tis plain to see, 
A taker of ships, a taker of men, 
A taker of cities is she. 
From the soft-curtained chamber of Hymen she fled, 
By the breath of giant Zephyr sped, 

1 The fanciful etymology of this word is 'sag?, the participle of the verb 
itpeet, to lake, and vctuc, a ship. 



b. c. 490.] AESCHYLUS. 91 

And shield-bearing throngs in marshalled array 
Hounded her flight o'er the printless way, 

Where the swift-plashing oar 

The fair booty bore 

To swirling Simois' leafy shore, 
And stirred the crimson fray. 

Blackie. 



DESCRIPTION OP HELEN. 

[From the Agamemnon.] 

When first she came to Ilion's towers, 
what a glorious sight, I ween, was there ! 
The tranquil beauty of the gorgeous queen 
Hung soft as breathless summer on her cheeks, 
Where on the damask sweet the glowing zephyr slept ; 
And like an idol beaming from its shrine, 
So o'er the floating gold around her thrown 

Her peerless face did shine ; 
And though soft sweetness hung upon their lids, 
Yet her young eyes still wounded where they look'd. 
She breathed an incense like Love's perfumed flower, 
Blushing in sweetness ; so she seem'd in hue, 
And pained mortal eyes with her transcendent view: 
E'en so to Paris' bed the lovely Helen came. 
But dark Erinnys, in the nuptial hour, 
Rose in the midst of all that bridal pomp, 
Seated midst the feasting throng, 
Amidst the revelry and song ; 
Erinnys, led by Xenius Jove, 
Into the halls of Priam's sons, 
Erinnys of the mournful bower, 
Where youthful brides weep sad in midnight hour. 

Symmons. 



In one of the earlier choruses, in which is introduced an episodical 
allusion to the abduction of Helen, occurs one of those soft passages 
so rare in JEschylus, nor less exquisite than rare. 

LAMENT FOR THE LOSS OF HELEN. 
BY THE MINSTRELS OF MENELAUS. 

And wo the halls, and wo the chiefs, 

And wo the bridal bed ! — 
And wo her steps — for once she loved 

The lord whose love she fled ! 
Lo ! where, dishonor yet unknown, 
He sits — nor deems his Helen flown. 



AESCHYLUS. [B. C. 490. 

Tearless and voiceless on the spot ; 
-All desert, but lie feels it not ! 
Ah. ! soon alive, to miss and mourn 
The form beyond the ocean borne 

Shall start the lonely king ! 
And thought shall fill the lost one's room, 
And darkly through the palace gloom 

Shall stalk a ghostly thing. 
Her statues meet, as round they rise, 
The leaden stare of lifeless eyes. 
Where is their ancient beauty gone ? — 
Why loathe his looks the breathing stone ? 
Alas ! the foulness of disgrace 
Hath swept the Venus from her face ! 
And visions in the mournful night 
Shall dupe the heart to false delight, 

A false and melancholy; 
For nought with sadder joy is fraught 
Than things at night by dreaming brought, 

The wish'd for and the holy. 
Swift from the solitary side 
The vision and the blessing glide, 
Scarce welcomed ere they sweep, 
Pale, bloodless dreams aloft 
On wings unseen and soft, 
Lost wanderers gliding through the paths of sleep. 

Bulwer. 



ORESTES ABOUT TO MURDER HIS MOTHER. 

Clytemnestra. I nursed thy childhood, and in peace would die. 

Orestes. Spare thee to live with me — my father's murderer ? 

Clytem. Not I ; say rather Fate ordained his death. 

Orest. The self-same Fate ordains thee now to die. 

Clytem. My curse beware, the mother's curse that bore thee. 

Orest. That cast me homeless from my father's house. 

Clytem. Nay, to a friendly house I lent thee, boy. 

Orest. Being free-born, I like a slave was sold. 

Clytem. I trafficked not with thee. I got no gold. 

Orest. Worse — worse than gold : a thing too foul to name ! 

Clytem. Name all my faults ; but had thy father none ? 

Orest. Thou art a woman sitting in thy chamber. 

Judge not the man that goes abroad and labors. 
Clytem. Hard was my lot, my child ; alone, uncherished. 
Orest. Alone by the fire, while for thy gentle ease 

Thy husband toiled. 
Clytem. Thou wilt not kill me, son ? 

Orest. I kill thee not. Thyself dost kill thyself. 
Clytem. Beware thy mother's anger-whetted hounds — 
Orest. My father's hounds have hunted me to thee. 
Clytem. The stone that sepulchres the dead art thou, 
And I the tear on't. 



B. C. 490.] iGSCHYLUR. 93 

Orest. Cease ! I voyaged here 

With a fair breeze : my father's murder brought me. 
Clytem. Ah me ! I nursed a serpent on my breast. 
Orest. Thou hadst a prophet in thy dream last night ; 

And since thou kill'dst the man thou should'st have 

spared, 
The man, that now should spare thee, can but kill. 

BlacJcie. 



RETRIBUTION FOR SIN. 

[Fro?n the Agamemnon ] 
CHORUS. — STROPHE I. 

Prophetically gifted he, 

In more than mortal language wise, 
Who, diving to eternity, 

Dragged from its depths man's destinies, 
And gave our universal foe 

A name, denoting endless strife, 
And inextinguishable wo 

And loss of ships, and towns, and life, 
And loss of thrones to mightiest kings. 

She, like hell's fury to destroy, 
Sailed on the giant Zephyr's wings 

At midnight's mantling hour to Troy ; 
Whom followed to the leafy shores 

Of Simois, with no equal race, 
But heavier vanned, ten thousand oars, 
That part the waves, but leave no trace, 
And mailed hunters proud fierce-panting in the chase. 

ANTISTROPHE I. 

Murderous the strife — styled rightly, too — 

That nuptial hour shall cost him dear ; 
And Priam and his sons shall rue, 

With hearts presaging many a fear, 
That guilty flight ; ay, soon shall they, 

Who sung defiance to the foe, 

Drown in a note of bitterest wo 
Their joyous hymeneal lay : 

A deeper and. a brinier tide 
Must deluge yet that land for thee, 

Paris, and thine adulterous bride ! 
The god of hospitality 

Shall pour a dark and crimson flood 
Of human life, to ebb no more, 

Wash out the crime in seas of blood, 
Of the false guest and paramour, 
And in its torrent sweep all in that vengeful hour. 



94 iEScnrLUS. [b. c. 490. 

STROPHE II. 

As one who nurtures with ungrateful care 

Home lioness's cub, in whom no trace 
Is visible of his mother or the lair, 

The young and old admire his gentle ways, 

He with the children like an infant plays ; 
Now stretches forth his paws in sportive mood 

To he caressed, and now his shining face ; 

He presses each by turns in his embrace, 
Makes all his wants and wishes understood, 
And fondly licks the hand that brings him food. 

ANTISTROPHE II. 

But older grown, his father and the lair 

And all his savage nature rise confessed, 
And in repayment of his fosterer's care 

He robs his board an uninvited guest ; 

Of lambs and kids he makes his daily feast, 
And gorged with slaughter is insatiate still. 

Adieu to peace by day, or nightly rest ! 

The house is stained with gore ; in every breast 
Deep anguish reigns, and he resembles well 
Some fate-commissioned fiend let slip from hell. 

STROPHE III. 

A thought of breathless calm, and silent joy, 

Image of all that nature boasts, or art 
Of beauty, there came also one to Troy, 

Who vibrated a sweet and delicate dart 

From her mild eyes, that wounded every heart, 
And oped in every breast the flower of love. 

But soon the thorns remain, the sweets depart : 

Detested bride, a fatal guest thou wert ! 
Around their bed a fury howls, to prove 
That there's a god, nor sleeps the avenging bolt of Jove. 



GOODNESS AND WICKEDNESS PRODUCE THEIR LIKES. 
[Fro?n the Agamemnon.] 

ANTISTEOPHE III. 

'Twas said of old, and men maintain it still, 
Fortune, how great soe'er, is never crown'd, 
But when the great possessor, at the close 
Of earthly grandeur, leaves an heir behind, 

And sinks not childless to his grave. 

But then they say it often haps 
Fortune will wither on the father's grave, 

And though his race was blest before, 

'Twill bud with sorrow's weeping sore, 

And never ending, once begun. 



B. C. 490.] iESCHYLUS. 95 

But I think not, as thinks the crowd : 

The impious doer still begets 

A brood of impious doers more, 
Children and heirs of all his wicked deeds : 

Whilst from the house of righteous men, 

Who even-handed justice love, 
Comes a long line of children good and fair. 

STROPHE IV. 

Foul villany, that wanton'd in its day, 
Now its old crimes by time are half effaced, 
Still reproduces others fresh and young, 
In generations new of wicked men ; 
And brings its horrid progeny to light, 

Born now or then, when comes the hour, 

Born at a birth with infant Wrath, 
And that great demon, heaven-detested fiend, 

High Hardihood or Thrasos bold, 

And blackest woes of cypress hue, 
In gloomy likeness of their parents drear, 

Woes, that on mansions proud let fall 
The funeral pall. 

ANTISTKOPHE IV. 

But Justice sheds her peerless ray 
In love-roofd sheds of humble swain, 
And gilds the smoky cots where low-lived virtue dwells : 

But with averted eyes 

The maiden Goddess flies 
The gorgeous halls of state, sprinkled with gold, 
Where filthy-handed Mammon dwells ; 
She will not praise what men adore, 
Wealth sicklied with false pallid ore, 
Though drest in pomp of haughty power, 
But still leads all things on, and looks to the last hour. 



PROMETHEUS' INVOCATION. 

Prometheus alone. holy JEther, and swift-winged Winds, 
And River-wells, and laughter infinite 
Of yon Sea-waves ! Earth, mother of us all, 
And all-viewing cyclic Sun, I cry on you ! — 
Behold me a god, what I endure from gods ! 
Behold, with throe on throe, 
How, wasted by this wo, 
I wrestle down the myriad years of Time ! 

Behold, how, fast around me, 
The new King of the happy ones sublime 



jESCHYLus. [b. c. 490. 

Has flung the chain he forged, has shamed and bound me ! 
Wo, wo ! to-day's wo and the coming morrow's, 
I cover with one groan ! And where is found me 

A limit to these sorrows ? 
And yet what word do I say ? I have foreknown 
Clearly all things that should be — nothing done, 
Comes sudden to my soul — and I must bear 
What is ordained with patience, being aware 
Necessity doth front the universe 
With an invincible gesture. Yet this curse 
Which strikes me now, I find it hard to brave 
In silence or in speech. Because I gave 
Honor to mortals, I have yoked my soul 
To this compelling fate ! Because I stole 
The secret fount of fire, whose bubbles went 
Over the ferule's brim, and man ward sent 
Art's mighty means and perfect rudiment, 
That sin I expiate in this agony ; 
Hung here in fetters, 'neath the blanching sky ! 
Ah, ah me ! what a sound, 
What a fragrance sweeps up from a pinion unseen 
Of a god,, or a mortal, or nature between — 
Sweeping up to this rock where tho earth has her bound, 
To have sight of my pangs — or some guerdon obtain — 
Lo ! a god in the anguish, a god in the chain ! 
The god, Zeus hateth sore, 
And his gods hate again, 
As many as tread on his glorified floor, — 
Because I loved mortals too much evermore ! 
Alas me ! what a murmur and motion I hear, 
As of birds flying near! 
And the air undersings 
The soft stroke of their wings — 
And all life that approaches, I wait for in fear. 

CHOEUS. A-NTISTROPHE I. 

I behold thee, Prometheus — yet now, yet now, 
A terrible cloud, whose rain is tears, 
Sweeps over mine eyes that witness how 

Thy body appears 
Hung awaste on the rocks by infrangible chains ! 
For new is the hand and the rudder that steers 
The ship of Olympus through surge and wind — 
And of old things passed, no track is behind. 

Prometheus. Under earth, under Hades, 

Where the home of the shade is, 
All into the deep, deep Tartarus, 
I would he had hurled me adown ! 
I would he had plunged me, fastened thus 
In the knotted chain, with the savage clang, 
All into the dark, where there should be none, 
Neither god nor another, to laugh and see ! 



B. C. 490.] ^SCHYLUS. 9T 

But now the winds sing through and shake 
The hurtled chains wherein I hang ; 
And I, in my naked sorrows, make 
Much mirth for my enemy. 

CHORUS. — STROPHE II. 

Nay ! who of the gods hath a heart so stern 

As to use thy wo for a root of mirth ? 
Who would not turn more mild to learn 

Thy sorrows ? who of the heaven and earth, 
Save Zeus ? But he 
Right wrathfully 

Bears on his sceptral soul unbent, 

And rules thereby the heavenly seed ; 

Nor will he cease, till he content 

His thirsty heart in a finished deed ; 

Or till Another shall appear, 

To win by fraud, to seize by fear 

The hardly captured government. 

Prometheus. Yet even of me he shall have need, 
That monarch of the blessed seed ; 
Of me, of me, who now am cursed 

Beneath his fetters dire ! 
To wring my secret out withal, 

And learn by whom his sceptre shall 
Be filched from him — as was, at first, 

His heavenly fire ! 
Yet he never shall enchant me 

With his honey-lipped persuasion ; 
Never, never shall he daunt me 

With the oath and threat of passion, 
Into speaking as they want me, 
Till he loose this savage chain, 

And accept the expiation 
Of my sorrow, by his pain. 

CHORUS. — ANTISTROFHB II. 

Thou art, sooth, a brave god, 

And, for all thou hast borne 
From the stroke of the rod, 

Naught relaxest from scorn ! 
But thou speakest unto me 

Too free and unworn — 
And a terror strikes through me. 

And festers my soul, — 

And I fear, in the roll 
Of the storm, for thy fate, 

In the ship far from shore — 
Since the son of Saturnius is hard in his hate, 

And unmoved in his heart evermore. 
9 



98 .ESCHYLUb. [b. c. 490. 

Prometheus. I know that Zeus is stern ! 
I know he metes his justice by his will! 
And yet I also know his soul shall learn 
More softness when once broken by this ill, — 
That, curbing his unconquerable wrath, 
He shall rush on in fear, to meet with me 
Who rush to meet with him, in agony, 
To issues of harmonious covenant. 

STROPHE I. 

I moan thy fate, I moan for thee, 

Prometheus ! From my restless eyes, 
Drop by drop intermittently, 

A trickling stream of tears supplies 
My cheeks all wet from fountains free, — 
Because that Zeus, the sternly bold, 

Whose law is taken from his breast, 

Uplifts his sceptre manifest 
Over the gods of old. 

AXTISTROFHE 1. 

'Tis sweet to have 

Life lengthened out 
With hopes that are brave 

By the very doubt, 
Till the spirit swells bold 
With the joys foretold I 
But I thrill to behold 

Thee, victim doomed, 
By the countless cares 
And the drear despairs, 
Lifelong, consumed. 
And all because thou, who art fearless now, 

With Zeus above, 
Dost overflow, for mankind below, 
With a free-souled, reverent love. 

Elizabeth Barrett Browning. 



PROMETHEUS 7 PROUD DEFIANCE OF JUPITER. 

[Mercury persuades Prometheus to relent. The chorus sustains him.] 

Hermes. I have indeed, methinks, said much in vain, — 
For still thy heart, beneath my showers of prayers, 
Lies dry and hard I — nay, leaps like a young horse 
Who bites against the new bit in his teeth, 
And tugs and struggles against the new-tried rein, — 
Still fiercest in the weakest thing of all, 
Which sophism is, — for absolute will alone, 
When left to its motions in perverted minds, 
Is worse than null, for strength ! Behold and see, 



b. c. 490.] jESChylus. 99 

Unless my words persuade thee, what a blast 

And whirlwind of inevitable wo 

Must sweep persuasion through thee ! For at first 

The Father will split up this jut of rock 

With the great thunder and the bolted flame, 

And hide thy body where the hinge of stone 

Shall catch it like an arm ! — and when thou hast passed 

A long black time within, thou shalt come out 

To front the sun ; and Zeus's wingetl hound, 

The strong carnivorous eagle, shall wheel down 

To meet thee, — self-called to a daily feast, — 

And set his fierce beak in thee, and tear off 

The long rags of thy flesh, and batten deep 

Upon thy dusky liver! Do not look 

For any end, moreover, to this curse, 

Or ere some god appear, to bear thy pangs 

On his own head vicarious, and descend 

With unreluctant step the darks of hell, 

And the deep glooms enringing Tartarus ! — 

Then ponder this ! — the threat is not a growth 

Of vain invention : it is spoken and meant ! 

For Zeus's mouth is impotent to lie, 

And doth complete the utterance in the act. 

So, look to it, thou ! — take heed ! — and nevermore 

Forget good counsel, to indulge self-will ! 

Chorus. This Hermes suits his reasons to the times — 
At least I think so ! — since he bids thee drop 
Self-will for prudent counsel. Yield to him ! 
When the wise err, their wisdom proves their shame. 

Prometheus. Unto me the foreknower, this mandate of power, 

He cries, to reveal it ! 
And scarce strange is my fate, if I suffer from hate, 

At the hour that I feel it ! 
Let the locks of the lightning, all bristling and whitening, 

Flash, coiling me round ! 
While the aether goes surging 'neath thunder and scourging 

Of wild winds unbound ! 
Let the blast of the firmament whirl from its place 

The earth rooted below, — 
And the brine of the ocean, in rapid emotion, 

Be it driven in the face 
Of the stars up in heaven, as they walk to and fro 1 
Let him hurl me anon into Tartarus — on — 

To the blackest degree, 
With Necessity's vortices strangling me down ! 
But he cannot join death to a fate meant for me ! 

Hermes. Why the words that he speaks and the thoughts that 
he thinks, 
Are maniacal — sad ! 
And if Fate, who hath bound him, just loosens the links, — 
Yet he's nigh to be mad. 



100 .ESCHYLUS. [b. c. 490. 

Then depart ye who groan with him, 

Leaving to moan with him — 
Go in haste! lest the roar of the thunder, in nearing, 
Should blast you to idiocy, living and hearing. 

Chorus. Change thy speech for another, thy thought for a new, 
If to move me and teach me indeed be thy care ! 

For thy words swerve so far from the loyal and true, 
That the thunder of Zeus seems more easy to bear. 

How, couldst teach me to venture such vileness ? 
Behold ! 

I choose, with this victim, this anguish foretold ! 

For I turn from the traitor in hate and disdain, — 

And I know that the curse of the treason is worse 
Than the pang of the chain. 

Hermes. Then remember, nymphs, what I uttered before, — 

Nor, when pierced by the arrows that Ate will throw you, 
Cast the blame on your fate, and declare evermore 

That Zeus thrust you on anguish he did not foreshow you. 
Nay, verily, nay ! for ye perish anon 

For your deed — by your choice ! — by no blindness of doubt, 
No abruptness of doom ! — but by madness alone, 

In the great net of Ate, whence none cometh out, 
Ye are wound and undone ! 

Prometheus. Ay ! in act, now — in word, now, no more ! 
Earth is rocking in space ! 
And the thunders crash up with a roar upon roar — 

And red eddies of lightning flash fires in my face — 
And the whirlwinds are whirling the dust round and round — 

And the blasts of the winds universal, leap free, 
And blow each upon each, with a passion of sound, — 

And sether goes mingling in storm with the sea ! 
Such a curse on my head, in a manifest dread, 

From the hand of your Zeus has been hurtled along ! 
my mother's fair glory! 0, iEther, enringing, 
All eyes, with the sweet common light of thy bringing. 
Dost thou see how I suffer this wrong? 

Elizabeth Barrett Browning. 



B. C. 480. J PINDAR. 101 



PINDAR. 

FLOURISHED ABOUT 480 B. C. 

Pindar, that eagle, mounts the skies, 
While virtue leads the noble way. 

Prior. 

Four swans sustain a car of silver bright, 

With heads advauc'd, and pinions stretch'd for flight ; 

Here, like some furious prophet, Pindar rode, 

And seem'd to labor with th' inspiring God. 

Pope's Temple, of Fame. 

He who aspires to reach the towering height 

Of matchless Pindar's heaven-ascending strain, 
Shall sink unequal to the arduous flight ; 

Like him who, falling, named the Icarian main. 
Presumptuous youth ! to 'tempt forbidden skies, 
And hope above the clouds on waxen plumes to rise. 
Pindar, like some fierce torrent swollen with showers 

Or sudden cataracts of melting snow, 
Which from the Alps its headlong deluge pours, 

And foams and thunders o'er the vales below, 
With desultory fury borne along, 
Rolls his impetuous, vast, unfathomable song. 

Francis. 

As when a river, swollen by sudden showers, 

O'er its known banks from some steep mountain pours ; 

So, in profound, unmeasurable song, 

The deep-mouth'd Pindar, foaming, pours along. 

Horace ; Francis' 1 Translation. 

Whik sculptured Jove some nameless waste may claim, 
Still rolls the Olympic car in Pindar's fame. 

Charles Bprague. 

Pindar, the most celebrated of the Lyric Poets of Greece, was born 
in Thebes, the metropolis of Boeotia, about 520 B. C. He was of a 
noble family that claimed descent from the Cadmids, the descendants 
of the founder of Thebes. Great attention was paid to his education, 
he having been sent to Athens to be instructed in music and all the 
liberal arts. He returned to Thebes at the early age of twenty, and 
soon acquired so great a reputation as a poet that he was employed 
by different states, and by princes in all parts of the Hellenic world, 
to compose for them choral songs for special occasions. The estima- 
tion in which he was held by his contemporaries is strikingly shown 
by the honors conferred upon him by the free states of Greece — Thebes, 
Athens, Ceos, and Rhodes. 

Pindar wrote various Hymns to the Gods, Paeans, Odes for Proces- 
sions, Songs of Maidens, Mimic Dancing Songs, Dirges, &c. &c. ; but 
the only poems which have come down to us entire are his Epinecia, 1 

1 Formed of two Greek words, epi, " upon," and nice, "victory." 
9* 



102 PINDAR. |~B. C. 480. 

or Triumphal Odes. These were all composed in commemoration of 
some victory in the public games, and are divided into four books, 
celebrating respectively the victories gained in the Olympian, Pythean, 
Nemean, and Isthmian games. The return of a victor at the games 
to his native city was an event celebrated with public rejoicings and 
solemn religious thanksgivings. A procession welcomed the success- 
ful hero, and attended him to the temple ; sacrifices were offered, and 
the sumptuous banquet followed. The triumphal ode, the principal 
feature in the solemnity, was then sung, and the festival was prolonged 
to a late hour, ending with a joyous revel called y.ui t uog, comos. At this 
revel the praises of the victor were again sung, and the poem or ode 
which celebrated them was also called comos, and hence our two 
English words, now so diverse, comic and encomium. 

In his triumphant odes Pindar is full of rapid and sudden digres- 
sions, which make him hard to be understood. 1 Not only does he 
extol the personal merits and the family of the victor, his country, 
and all that was adapted to display national greatness, but, abandon- 
ing the professed objects of his panegyric, he bursts into celebrations 
of the heroes of former days, the mighty exploits of demi-gods, and 
the gorgeous fables of earliest times. He is chiefly remarkable for the 
gigantic boldness of his conceptions, and the daring sublimity of his 
metaphors. In him also we see the true majesty and grandeur of 
religious poetry ; for the religious character of his mind, as well as his 
firm belief in a superintending Providence, would not permit him to 
connect success with mere human causes. He always represents the 
gods as the givers of victory, and speaks of piety, and the fulfilment of 
relative duties as the causes which recommend the conqueror to their 
favor. Nor does he neglect to warn the victor of the dangers of suc- 
cess, and of the temptation which it offers to overweening pride ; thus 
teaching him, emphatically, humility, gratitude, and moderation in 
victory. 2 

The best of the early editions of Pindar is that by Heyne, in three 
volumes 8vo., published at Gottingen, 1798, containing a valuable 
dissertation on the metres of Pindar by Godfrey Hermann. In 1816 
appeared in London a new edition with notes, by Mr. Huutingford, 
who subjoins the Latin paraphrase of Joannes Benedictus. This is a 
very useful edition, especially for younger students. A very valuable 
edition has also been published by A. Bockh, Leipsic, 1821, in two 

1 The English student will have the best conception of the style and 
manner of Pindar, by reading "The Bard'' of Gray, a poem not inferior in 
beauty or sublimity to anything the Theban bard has left us. 

- Pindar died about 442 B. C, at the advanced age of eighty year-. 



B. C. 480.] PINDAR. 103 

volumes quarto, containing dissertations and a valuable commentary. 
The translations of Pindar are by Gilbert West, with a Dissertation 
on the Olympic Games ; ! by Rev. C. A. Wheelwright, Prebendary of 
Lincoln; by Abraham Moore, with Notes, critical and explanatory ; e 
and another by Rev. Henry Francis Cary, A. M. This last is decidedly 
the best, 3 giving us an idea of Pindar as nearly as it can be given to 
a mere English reader. 



FUTURE RETRIBUTION. 

The deeds that stubborn mortals do 
In this disordered nook of Jove's domain, 

All find their meed ; and there's a Judge below, 
Whose hateful doom inflicts th' inevitable pain. 

O'er the Good, soft suns awhile, 

Through the mild day, the night serene, 

Alike with cloudless lustre smile, 
Tempering all the tranquil scene. 

Theirs is leisure ; vex not they 

Stubborn soil, or watery way, 

To wring from toil want's worthless bread : 

No ills they know, no tears they shed, 

But with the glorious gods below 

.£ges of peace contented share : 

Meanwhile the Bad, in bitterest wo, 
Eye-startling tasks and endless tortures bear. 

All, whose steadfast virtue thrice 

Each side the grave unchanged hath stood, 

Still unseduced, unstained with vice, 
They, by Jove's mysterious road, 

Pass to Saturn's realm of rest, 

Happy isle, that holds the Blest ; 

Where sea-born breezes gently blow 

O'er blooms of gold that round them glow, 

1 A review of this, by Bishop Heber, may be found in the fifth volume of 
the Quarterly Review, May, 1811. 

2 This is noticed in the twenty-eighth volume of the Quarterly. 

3 Of this a writer in the fifty-ninth volume of the Edinburgh Review says : 
"This, at last, is Pindar. It is a book which the lover of Pindar, whose 
memory is written over with the beauties of the great Lyric, will go through 
without stopping ; and which will convey an image — an idea — of his genius 
and manner — that admirable mixture of strength, softness ; austerity, sweet- 
ness ; simplicity, richness; — sometimes hard and vivid as the chastest sta- 
tuary ; sometimes florid and luxuriant as the warmest painting — to the 
unlearned mind destitute of Greek." 



104 PINDAR. [b. c. 480. 

Which Nature boon from stream or strand 
Or goodly tree profusely showers ; 
Whence pluck they many a fragrant band, 
And braid their locks with never-fading flowers. 

A. Moore. 



THE SAILING OF THE ARGO. 

And soon as by the vessel's bow, 
The anchor was hung up ; 
Then took the leader on the prow, 
In hands, a golden cup ; 
And on great father Jove did call ; 
And on the winds, and waters all 
Swept by the hurrying blast ; 
And on the nights, and ocean ways ; 
And on the fair auspicious days, 
And sweet return at last. 
From out the clouds, in answer kind, 
A voice of thunder came ; 
And, shook in glistering beams around, 
Burst out the lightning flame. 
The chiefs breath'd free ; and at the sign, 
Trusted in the power divine. 
Hinting sweet hopes, the seer cried, 
Forthwith their oars to ply ; 
And swift went backward from rough hands, 
The rowing ceaselessly. 

Conducted by the breezy south, 
They reached the stormy Axine's mouth ; 
There a shrine for Neptune rear'd ; 
Of Thracian bulls, a crimson herd 
Was ready ; and heav'n founded-stone, 
Wide-spread, to lay the altar on. 
Peril deep before them lay ; 
And to the Lord of ships they pray, 
Amidst their ever-raging shocks, 
To 'scape the justle of fierce rocks. 
For twain there were, alive, that whirl'd 
Swifter than bellowing winds are hurl'd. 
But now to them, that voyage blest 
Brought their final day of rest. 

Cary. 

THE POWER OF MUSIC. 

O thou, whom Phoebus and the choir 
Of violet-tressed Muses own. 
Their joint treasure, golden lyre, 
Ruling step with warbled tone, 



B. C. 480.] PINDAR. 105 

Prelude sweet to festive pleasures ; 

Minstrels hail thy sprightly measures ; 

Soon as shook from quivering strings, 

Leading the choral hands, thy loud preamble rings. 

In thy mazes, steep'd, expire 

Bolts of ever-flowing fire. 

•Jove's eagle on the sceptre slumbers, 

Possess'd by thy enchanting numbers ; 

On either side, his rapid wing. 

Drops, entranc'd, the feather'd king ; 

Black vapor o'er his curved head, 

Sealing his eyelids, sweetly shed ; 

Upheaving his moist back he lies, 

Held down with thrilling harmonies. 

Cary. 

Gray has thus most beautifully imitated this in his " Progress of 
Poetry" : — 

Oh ! Sovereign of the willing soul, 

Parent of sweet and solemn-breathing airs ! 

Enchanting shell ! the sullen Cares, 
And frantic Passions bear thy soft control. 

On Thracia's hills the Lord of War 

Has curbed the fury of his car, 
And dropped his thirsty lance at thy command. 
Perching on the sceptred hand 
Of Jove, thy magic lulls the feathered king 
With ruffled, plumes and flagging wing: 
Quench'd in dark clouds of slumber, lie 
The terror of his beak, and lightnings of his eye. 



MOUNT iETNA. 

iEtna, nurse of ceaseless frost ; 

From whose cavern'd depths aspire 

In purest folds upwreathing, tost, 

Fountains of approachless fire. 

By day, a flood of smouldering smoke, 

With sullen gleam, the torrents pour ; 

But in darkness, many a rock, 

And crimson flame, along the shore, 

Hurls to the deep with deaf 'ning roar. 

From that worm, aloft are thrown, 

The wells of Vulcan, full of fear ; 

A marvel strange to look upon ; 

And, for the passing mariner, 

As marvellous to hear ; 

How iEtna's tops with umbrage black, 

And soil, do hold him bound ; 

And by that pallet, all his back 

Is scored with many a wound. 

Cary. 



106 PINDAR. [b. c. 480. 



PRAYER FOR EENEVOLENCE. 

Hateful of old the glozing plea, 
With bland imposture at his side, 
Still meditating guile ; 
Fill'd with reproaches vile ; 
Who pulls the splendid down, 
And bids th' obscure in fest'ring glory shine. 

Such temper far remove, Father Jove, from me. 
The simple paths of life be mine ; 
That when this being I resign, 
I to my children may bequeath 
A name they shall not blush to hear. 
Others for gold the vow may breathe, 
Or lands tbat see no limit near : 
But fain would I live out my days, 
Beloved by those with whom they're past, 
In mine own city, till at last 
In earth my limbs are clad ; 
Still praising what is worthy praise, 
But scatt'ring censure on the bad. 
For virtue by the wise and j ust 
Exalted, grows up as a tree, 
That springeth from the dust, 
And by the green dews fed, 
Doth raise aloft her head, 
And in the blithe air waves her branches free. 

Cary. 



THE INFANT HERCULES. 

I praise not him, whose palace stored 
Reserves unsunn'd the secret hoard, 
For private aims design'd. 

Riches, for happiness employ'd, 
Are with applause of all enjoy'd ; 
By friends, that share them, blest. 
For common hopes to man are given ; 
Labor his lot, by will of heaven ; 
And naught, for self, possest. 

Worth the theme, on Hercules 
Gladly doth my spirit seize ; 
From the records of old story, 
Waking up a tale of glory : 



PINDAR. 107 

How, escaped the mother's pang, 
Into wondrous-gleaming light, 
With his twinborn-brother sprang 
The son of Jove ; and from the height, 
Seated on her throne of gold, 
How Juno did the babe behold, 
Where, wrapt from jealous eye of day, 
In yellow swaddling-bands, he lay. 

Forthwith the queen, whom heav'n adores, 
In angry mood, her dragons sent, 
And rushing through the open doors, 
To the wide chambers in they went ; 
Eager the children to enfold 
With keen jaws in ravine roll'd. 
But he against them, raised upright 
His head, and first essay'd the fight ; 
Grasping by their necks the twain 
With hands they struggled from in vain. 
They hung and gasp'd, till life was tir'd ; 
Then from enormous folds expired. 
Opprest the women sunk with dread, 
That watched about Alcmena's bed ; 
For she unclad had leapt to scare 
The serpents from her infant lair. 
Swift the Cadmean princes, arm'd 
In glittering steel, throng'd in, alarm'd ; 
Amphitryon foremost of the ring, 
His naked falchion brandishing, 
Smitten with a pang severe. 
Others' pain we lightly bear ; 
But the woes, that home befall, 
Press alike the hearts of all. 

He stood. Delight and wonder mix'd 
His step suspense, in silence, fix'd ; 
Surveying with a rapture wild, 
The might and courage of his child ; 
And heav'n, beyond his utmost thought, 
Had turn'd the fearful news to nought. 
A neighboring seer he summoned straight, 
Tiresias, who best knew 
To read the dark decrees of fate ; 
Of Jove a prophet true : 
Who, to him and all the host, 
His fortunes did explain : 
What monsters he shall slay by land, 
And what amidst the main : 
And who, with fell ambition flown, 
Shall from a high estate be thrown, 
To meet, beneath his righteous doom, 
A bitter lot, a timeless tomb. 



108 PINDAR. [b. c. 480. 

And last of all, on Phlegra's coast, 
When gods against the giant host 
Should stand in dread array ; 
That underneath his weapons, must 
Their radiant locks be smear'd in dust, 
Did that diviner say. 
And he with peace, his lot to close, 
Shall dwell for aye in sweet repose ; 
Amid those mansions wondrous fair, 
A portion with the gods to share ; 
And of his mighty toils the meed, 
Hebe, the destined bride, shall lead, 
In youthful beauty's bloom ; 
And. the blessed spousals ending, 
Near Saturnian Jove ascending, 
Gaze round upon the awful dome. 

Cary. 



TO THE SUN UNDER, AN ECLIPSE. 
[A Fragment.] 

Beam of the Sun, Heaven-watcher, Thou, whose glance 
Lights far and wide, unveil to me, unveil 
Thy brow, that once again mine eye may hail 

The lustre of thy cloudless countenance. 

Surpassing star ! Why thus at noon of day 

Withdrawing, would'st thou mar 

Man's stalwart strength, and bar 
With dark obstruction Wisdom's winding way ? 

Lo ! on thy chariot-track 

Hangs midnight pitchy-black ; 

While thou, from out thine ancient path afar, 

Hurriest thy belated car. 

But thee, by mightiest Jove, do I implore — 

O'er Thebes thy fleet steeds' flight 

To rein, with presage bright 
Of plenteousness and peace for evermore. 

Fountain of Light ! — venerated Power ! — 

To all of earthly line 

A wonder and a sign, 
What terror threatenest thou at this dread hour ? 

Doom of battle dost thou bring ; 
Or cankerous blight, fruit-withering ; 
Or crushing snow-showers' giant weight ; 
Or faction, shatterer of the state ; 



B. C. 470-400.]- SOCRATES. 109 

Or breaching seas poured o'er the plain ; 
Or frost that fettereth land and spring ; 
Or summer dank whose drenching wing 

Droops heavily with rain ? 

Such fate, portendeth such, thy gloomy brow ? 

Or, deluging beneath the imprison'd deep, 
This earth once more, man's infant race wilt thou 

Afresh from off the face of nature sweep ? 



SOCRATES. 
470—400 b. c. 



To sage Philosophy next lend thine ear, 
From Heaven descended to the low-roof d house 
Of Socrates ; see there his tenement, 
Whom well inspired the oracle pronounced 
Wisest of men ; from whose mouth issued forth 
Mellifluous streams, that water'd all the schools, 
Of Academicks old and new, with those 
Surnamed Peripateticks, and the sect 
Epicurean, and the Stoick severe. 

Milton. 

Much suffering heroes next their honors claim, 
Those of less noisy, and less guilty fame, 
Fair virtue's silent train: supreme of these 
Here ever shines the godlike Socrates. 

Pope. 

First Socrates, 
Who, firmly good in a corrupted state, 
Against the rage of tyrants single stood, 
Invincible ! calm Season's holy law, 
That voice of God within the attentive mind, 
Obeying, fearless, or in life, or death : 
Great moral teacher ! wisest of mankind ! 

Thomson. 

This first of moral philosophers, eminent alike for the purity of his 
precepts and of his life, was the son of a poor sculptor named Sophro- 
niscus. He early formed himself to a character completely opposed to 
the frivolity and sophistical habits of the refined and corrupt age to 
which he belonged, and espoused that true wisdom which consists in 
virtue. While the sophists who preceded him discussed questions 
that had no bearing whatever upon the life, he was the first who 
caused the truths of philosophy to exercise a practical influence upon 
the masses of mankind. Disdaining to assume the appellation of 
sophos, "a wise man," as other pretended teachers of wisdom had done, 
he chose simply to be called a plrilosophos, "a lover of wisdom ;" and 
10 



110 SOCRATES. [b. c. 4T 0-400. 

his whole life, in all the relations of man and citizen, presented the 
pure image of a beautiful humanity ennobled by morality. Without 
becoming, properly speaking, the founder of a school or system of 
philosophy, he drew around him, by the charms of his conversation, 
a crowd of young men and others, inspiring them with elevated 
thoughts and sentiments, and forming several of those most devoted 
to him into the most brilliant characters that have adorned Grecian 
literature ; for what higher reward could a teacher ask than to have 
such pupils as Xenophon and Plato ? 

Unlike Plato and Aristotle, Socrates had no fixed place for giving 
his instructions ; but he might be seen at all times in the streets and 
highways of the city, and in the midst of the crowds who thronged 
Athens, delivering his lessons as occasion called them forth — lessons 
which were listened to by all with enthusiastic attention. He pro- 
fessed to be guided by what he called his Daemon, or Genius, and in his 
attempts to regenerate society he felt that his best prospects of success 
were with the young, and with those especially whose talents, culti- 
vated by learning, were likely to influence their contemporaries. His 
earnestness as a social reformer brought upon him increasing odium 
from the " conservatives" x of the day, as well as from that still 
larger class whose feelings of malice and revenge towards those who 
expose their follies and their vices, their wicked private customs 
and public institutions, can never be appeased but with the death of 
their victim. Accordingly, prejudice, unpopularity, and hate finally 
prevailed, and two charges were brought against him : one of not 
believing in the national deities, and the other of corrupting the youth. 
That he did not believe in the idols that most of his contemporaries 
worshipped, is true ; but that he corrupted the youth was as absurd 
as false, for all his teachings tended ever to purify them, and lead them 
in the paths of virtue and truth. He defended himself; and his de- 
fence is a perfect whole, neither more nor less than what it ought to 

1 There are some who, calling themselves conservatives, conserve nothing, 
and who yield, not to the advances of civilization, but to the encroachments 
of barbarism ; whose whole conservatism is constant concession : who tell 
us they are "as much opposed to barbarism as any one," but they wouldn't 
meet it on the field of politics ; — "as much opposed to crime as any one," 
but they wouldn't hear a warning voice raised against it from the pulpit: — 
their polities are too pure, their Sunday slumbers too precious, to be dis- 
turbed by any allusions to such exciting matters as the advances of crime. 
And so they go on, conceding everything — not to civilization, but to bar- 
barism : — not to liberty, but to liberticide — backing down before every pre- 
sumptuous aggression. From such there is nothing to expect. — Oration 
delivered before the Municipal Authorities of the City of Boston, July 4, 
1859, by George Sumner. 



E. C. 4T0-400.] SOCRATES. Ill 

have been. Proudly conscious of his innocence, he sought not to move 
the pity of his judges, for he cared not for acquittal ; and "exhibited 
that union of humility and high-mindedness which is observable in 
none, perhaps, with the exception of St. Paul." 1 His speech availed 
not, and he was condemned to drink the hemlock. 2 He continued in 
prison thirty days before the sentence was executed ; and to this 
interval we are indebted for that sublime conversation on the immor- 
tality of the soul which Plato has embodied in his Phsedo. 

At length the fatal day arrived, when he had reached his full three 
score years and ten. Refusing all means of escape to which his friends 
continually and importunately urged him, he took the poisoned cup 
from the hands of the boy who brought it to him in his prison- 
chamber ; drank it off calmly amid the tears and sobs of surrounding 
friends ; walked about till the draught had begun to take effect upon 
his system ; and then laid himself down upon his bed, and soon 
breathed his last. Such was the life and such the death of this great 
man, who has commanded more admiration and reverence than any 
other individual of ancient or modern times, and whose death has 
been felt as the greatest of all human examples, not only by his own 
countrymen, but by the whole civilized world. 

The main object of the philosophy of Socrates was the attainment 
of correct ideas concerning moral and religious obligation — the end of 
man's being, and the perfection of his nature as a rational being, and 
his duties ; all of which he discussed in an unpretending and popular 
manner, appealing to the testimony of the moral sense within us. His 
method of teaching was by a series of questions, step by step, designed 
to elicit, from each with whom he conversed, the principles of his own 
convictions, and thus, by induction and analogy, leading to the desired 
result. His own good sense suggested to him this method, since called 
" Socratic," as being best calculated to refute the sophists, by making 
them contradict themselves. His life, manner of conversation, his 
style of reasoning, and the, subjects which chiefly interested him, have 
been embodied in the most interesting and instructive book which 
the ancients have left us— the "Memorabilia of Socrates," by his 
illustrious pupil, Xenophon. 

Mitchell, in his " Preliminary Discourse" to the Comedies of Aristo- 
phanes — a piece of criticism which cannot be too highly praised for 
its rare beauty and eloquence, and its felicitous discrimination — thus 
speaks of this truly wise and good man : — 

1 Browne's Greek Literature. 

2 Of his judges 281 were for his condemnation, and 276 for his acquittal. 



112 SOCRATES. [b. c. 470-400. 

The name of Socrates is known to most readers only by the page 
of history, where nothing appears in its undress ; and even in persons 
tolerably conversant with the learned languages, the knowledge of this 
singular man is often confined to that beautiful little work of Xeno- 
phon, which, indeed, deserves the classical appellation of "golden," 
and to that immortal trilogy of Plato, which has been embalmed by 
the tears 1 of all ages. When we read the admirable system of ethics 
(some few blots excepted) which is laid open in the former, and the 
simple narrations which conduct the author of them to the close of 
his mortal career in the latter, it is not simply a burst of admiration, 
or grief, or horror which breaks from us, but a union of all three, so 
profound and so involved, that the mind must be strong indeed which 
can prevent the feelings, for a time, from mastering the judgment. 
Few readers, it is believed, even make the attempt ; the prison-scene 
is an agony of suffering to which the mind gives way that it may not 
be torn by opposing it ; Socrates drinking the poison shocks the 
imagination ; we feel, such is the merit of the sufferer, or such the 
consummate skill of his biographer, as if a sin had been committed 
against human nature ; we think for a moment that a chasm has 
been left in society which can never again be filled up ; and we feel as 
if we could stop nature herself in her course to protest against a 
transaction the guilt of which seems to belong to all ages. 

That Socrates could have so commanded the spirits of two men 
so gifted as Xenophon and Plato, that they may be said to have 
devoted their lives to the delineation of his character and senti- 
ments, is a proof of ascendency which gives us the most astonishing 
opinion of his powers. It cannot, however, be sufficiently regretted 
that he did not take the task upon himself. The most interesting 
book, perhaps, that ever could have been written, would have been 
that which traced gradually and minutely the progress of thought in 
the mind of Socrates, and through what changes and circumstances 
he arrived at that system of opinions which, if they sometimes re- 
mind us of what unassisted nature must be, more often recall to us 
" how glorious a piece of work is man ! how noble in reason ! how in- 
finite in faculties ! in apprehension how like a God! " This, however, 
has not been done, and Socrates must now be taken as we find him. 
By thus leaving the task to others, he has, perhaps, gained something 
in reputation on the score of intellect, but it can neither be concealed 

1 One of the greatest, wisest, and best men of antiquity, and whose little 
infirmities only made him the more amiable, confesses that he never read the 
Phsedon without an agony of tears. Quid dicam de Socrate ? cujus morti 
vVlachrymare soleo Platonem legens. — Cic. de Nat. Deor. lib. viii. 



B . c. 410-400.] SOCRATES. 113 

nor denied that, on the side of manners and morals, he has lost much 
both in purity and dignity. 



CONVERSATION WITH ARISTODEMUS ON THE GOODNESS OF 
THE DEITY. 

I will now relate the manner in which I once heard Socrates 
discoursing with Aristodemus, surnamed the Little, concerning 
the Deity. For, observing that he neither prayed nor sacri- 
ficed to the gods, nor yet consulted any oracle, but, on the 
contrary, ridiculed and laughed at those who did, he said to 
him : — 

" Tell me, Aristodemus, is there any man whom you admire 
on account of his merit ?" 

Aristodemus having answered, "Many." — "Name some of 
them, I pray you." 

" I admire," said Aristodemus, " Homer for his epic poetry, 
Melanippides for his dithyrambics, Sophocles for tragedy, Po- 
lycletes for statuary, and Xeuxis for painting." 

" But which seems to you most worthy of admiration, Aris- 
todemus ; — the artist who forms images void of motion and 
intelligence ; or one who hath the skill to produce animals 
that are endued, not only with activity, but understanding?" 

" The latter, there can be no doubt," replied Aristodemus, 
" provided the production was not the effect of chance, but of 
wisdom and contrivance." 

"But since there are many things, some of which we can 
easily see the use of, while we cannot say of others to what 
purpose they were produced ; which of these, Aristodemus, do 
you suppose the work of wisdom ?" 

" It should seem the most reasonable to affirm it of those 
whose fitness and utility is so evidently apparent." 

"But it is evidently apparent, that He, who at the begin- 
ning made man, endued him with senses because they were 
good for him ; eyes, wherewith to behold whatever was visible; 
and ears, to hear whatever was to be heard. For say, Aristo- 
demus, to what purpose should odors be prepared, if the sense 
of smelling had been denied? Or why the distinctions of bitter 
and sweet, of savory and unsavory, unless a palate had been 
likewise given, conveniently placed, to arbitrate between them, 
and declare the difference? Is not that Providence, Aristo- 
demus, in a most eminent manner conspicuous, which, because 
the eye of man is so delicate in its contexture, hath therefore 

10* 



114 socrates. [b. c. 470-400. 

prepared eyelids like doors, whereby to secure it; which extend 
of themselves whenever it is needful, and again close when sleep 
approaches ? Are not these eyelids provided, as it were, with 
a fence on the edge of them, to keep off the wind and guard 
the eye ? Even the eyebrow itself is not without its office, but, 
as a penthouse, is prepared to turn off the sweat, which, falling 
from the forehead, might enter and annoy that no less tender 
than astonishing part of us ! Is it not to be admired that the 
ears should take in sounds of every sort, and yet are not too 
much filled by them? That the fore-teeth of the animal should 
be formed in such a manner as is evidently best suited for the 
cutting of its food, as those on the side for grinding it in 
pieces ? That the mouth, through which this food is conveyed, 
should be placed so near the nose and the eyes, as to prevent 
the passing, unnoticed, whatever is unfit for nourishment ; 
while Nature, on the contrary, hath set at a distance, and con- 
cealed from the senses, all that might disgust or any way offend 
them ? And canst thou still doubt, Aristodeinus ! whether 
a disposition of parts like this should be the work of chance, 
or of wisdom and contrivance ?" 

" I have no longer any doubt," replied Aristodemus : " and, 
indeed, the more I consider it, the more evident it appears to 
me, that man must be the masterpiece of some great artificer ; 
carrying along with it infinite marks of the love and favor of 
Him who hath thus formed it." 

"And what thinkest thou, Aristodemus, of that desire in the 
individual which leads to the continuance of the species ? Of 
that tenderness and affection in the female towards her young, 
so necessary for its preservation ? Of that unremitted love of 
life, and dread of dissolution, which take such strong posses- 
sion of us from the moment we begin to be ?" 

"I think of them," answered Aristodemus, "as so many 
regular operations of the same great and wise Artist, delibe- 
rately determining to preserve what he hath once made." 

"But, farther (unless thou desirest to ask me questions), 
seeing, Aristodemus, thou thyself art conscious of reason and 
intelligence, supposest thou there is no intelligence elsewhere? 
Thou knowest thy body to be a small part of that wide-extended 
earth which thou everywhere beholdest : the moisture contained 
in it, thou also knowest to be a small portion of that mighty 
mass of waters whereof seas themselves are but a part, while 
the rest of the elements contribute, out of their abundance, to 
thy formation. It is the soul then alone, that intellectual part 
of us, which is come to thee bv some lucky chance, from I 



B. C. 470-400.] SOCRATES. 115 

know not where. If so be, there is indeed no intelligence 
elsewhere: and we must be forced to confess, that this stupen- 
dous universe, with all the various bodies contained therein — 
equally amazing, whether we consider their magnitude or num- 
ber, whatever their use, whatever their order — all have been 
produced, not by intelligence, but chance /" 

" It is with difficulty that I can suppose otherwise." returned 
Aristodemus; "for I behold none of those gods, whom' you 
speak of, as making and governing all things ; whereas I see 
the artists when at their work here among us." 

" Neither yet seest thou thy soul, Aristodemus, which, how- 
ever, most assuredly governs thy body: although it may well 
seem, by thy manner of talking, that it is chance, and not 
reason, which governs thee." 

"I do not despise the gods," said Aristodemus : "on the 
contrary, I conceive so highly of their excellence, as to sup- 
pose they stand in no need either of me or of my services." 

" Thou mistakest the matter, Aristodemus; the greater mag- 
nificence they have shown in their care of thee, so much the 
more honor and service thou owest them." 

"Be assured," said Aristodemus, "if I once could be per- 
suaded the gods took care of man, I should want no monitor 
to remind me of my duty." 

"And canst thou doubt, Aristodemus, if the gods take care 
of man ? Hath not the glorious privilege of walking upright 
been alone bestowed on him, whereby he may, with the better 
advantage, survey what is around him, contemplate, with more 
ease, those splendid objects which are above, and avoid the 
numerous ills and inconveniences which would otherwise befall 
him ? Other animals, indeed, they have provided with feet, 
by which they may remove from one place to another ; but to 
man they have also given hands, with which he can form many 
things for his use, and 'make himself happier than creatures of 
any other kind. A tongue hath been bestowed on every other 
animal ; but what animal, except man, hath the power of form- 
ing words with it, whereby to explain his thoughts, -and make 
them intelligible to others ? And to show that the gods have 
had regard to his very pleasures, they have not limited them, 
like those of other anjmals, to times and seasons, but man is 
left to indulge in them, whenever not hurtful to him. 

" But it is not with respect to the body alone that the gods 
have shown themselves thus bountiful to man ! Their most ex- 
cellent gift is that soul they have infused into him, which so far 
surpasses what is elsewhere to be found. For, by what animal, 



116 SOCRATES. [b. c. 410-400. 

except man, is even the existence of those gods discovered, who 
have produced, and still uphold, in such regular order, this 
beautiful and stupendous frame of the universe ? What other 
species of creatures are to be found that can serve, that can 
adore them ? What other animal is able, like man, to provide 
against the assaults of heat and cold, of thirst and hunger? 
That can lay up remedies for the time of sickness, and improve 
the strength nature hath given by a well-proportioned exercise ? 
That can receive, like him, information and instruction; or so 
happily keep in memory what he hath seen, and heard, and 
learnt ? These things being so, who seeth not that man is, as 
it were, a god in the midst of this visible creation ; so far doth 
he surpass, whether in the endowments of soul or body, all 
animals whatsoever that have been produced therein ! For, if 
the body of the ox had been joined to the mind of man, the 
acuteness of the latter would have stood him in small stead, 
while unable to execute the well-designed plan ; nor would the 
human form have been of more use to the brute, so long as it 
remained destitute of understanding ! But in thee ! Aristo- 
demus, hath been joined, to a wonderful soul, a body no less 
wonderful: and sayest thou, after this, 'the gods take no 
thought for me !' What wouldst thou then more to convince 
thee of their care ?" 

"I would they should send, and inform me," said Aristo- 
demus, " what things I ought or ought not to do, in like manner 
as thou sayest they frequently do to thee." 

" And what then, Aristodemus ! Supposest thou, that when 
the gods give out some oracle to all the Athenians, they mean 
it not for thee ? If, by their prodigies, they declare aloud to 
all Greece — to all mankind — the things which shall befall them ; 
are they dumb to thee alone ? And art thou the only person 
whom they have placed beyond their care ? Believest thou 
they would have wrought into the mind of man a persuasion 
of their being able to make him happy or miserable, if so be 
they had no such power ? or would not even man himself, long 
ere this, have seen through the gross delusion ? How is it, 
Aristodemus, thou rememberest, or remarkest not, that the 
kingdoms and commonwealths most renowned as well for their 
wisdom as antiquity, are those whose piety and devotion hath 
been the most observable ? And why thinkest thou that the 
providence of God may not easily extend itself throughout the 
whole universe ? As, therefore, among men, we make best 
trial of the affection and gratitude of our neighbor, by showing 
him kindness; and discover his wisdom, by consulting him iu 



B. C. 470-400.] SOCRATES. lit 

our distress ; do thou, in like manner, behave towards the 
gods : and, if thou wouldst experience what their wisdom, and 
what their love, render thyself deserving the communication of 
some of those divine secrets which may not be penetrated by 
man ; and are imparted to those alone who consult, who adore, 
who obey the Deity. Then shalt thou, my Aristodemus ! un- 
derstand there is a Being whose eye pierceth throughout all 
nature, and whose ear is open to every sound ; extended to all 
places ; extending through all time ; and whose bounty and 
care can know no other bounds than those fixed by his own 
creation !" 

By this discourse, and others of the like nature, Socrates 
taught his friends that they were not only to forbear whatever 
was impious, unjust, or unbecoming before men; but even, 
when alone, they ought to have a regard to all their actions ; 
since the gods have their eyes continually upon us ; and none 
of our designs can be concealed from them. 



CONVERSATION WITH GLAUKON ON THE QUALIFICATIONS 
NECESSARY EOR A RULER. 

When Glaukon, the son of Ariston, not yet twenty years 
old, was obstinately bent on making a speech to the people of 
Athens, and could not be stopped by his other friends and 
relations, even though he was dragged from the speaker's bema 
by main force and well laughed at, Socrates did what they 
could not do, and by talking with him, checked this ambitious 
attempt. "So, Glaukon," said he, "it appears that you 
intend to take a leading part in the affairs of the state." — " I 
do, Socrates," he replied. — "And, by Jupiter," said Socrates, 
"if there be any brilliant position among men, that is one. 
For if you attain this object, you may do what you like, serve 
your friends, raise your family, exalt your country's power, be- 
come famous in Athens, in Greece, and perhaps even among 
the barbarians, so that when they see you they will look at you 
as a wonder, as was the case with Themistocles." This kind 
of talk took Glaukon's fancy,' and he stayed to listen. 

Socrates then went on. "Of course, in order that the city 
may thus honor you, you must promote the benefit of the city." 
— "Of course," Glaukon said. — "And now," says Socrates, 
" do not be as niggard of your confidence, but tell me, of all 
love, what is the first point in which you will promote the city's 
benefit." — And when Glaukon hesitated at this, as having to 



118 SOCRATES. [b. c. 410-400. 

consider in what point lie should begin his performances, So- 
crates said: "Of course, if you were to have to benefit the 
family of a friend, the first thing you would think of, would be 
to make him richer ; and in like manner, perhaps, you would 
try to make the city richer." — "Just so," said he. — " Then, of 
course you would increase the revenues of the city." — "Pro- 
bably," said he. — " Good. Tell me, now, what are the revenues 
of the city, and what they arise from ? Of course you have 
considered these points with a view of making the resources 
which are scanty become copious, and of finding some substi- 
tute for those which fail." — "In fact," said Glaukon, "those 
are points which I have not considered." 

" Well, if that be the case," said Socrates, " tell me at least 
what are the expenses of the city ; for of course your plan is to 
retrench anything that is superfluous in these." — "But, by 
Jove," said he, "I have not given my attention to this mat- 
ter." — "Well, then," said Socrates, "we will put on for the 
present this undertaking of making the city richer ; for how 
can a person undertake such a matter without knowing the 
income and the outgoings?" 

Glaukon of course must by this time have had some mis- 
givings at having his fitness for a prime minister tested by 
such questioning as this. However, he does not yield at once. 
"But, Socrates," he says, "there is a way of making the city 
richer by taking wealth from our enemies." — " Doubtless there 
is," said Socrates, " if you are stronger than they; but if that 
is not so, you may by attacking them lose even the wealth you 
have." — " Of course that is so," says Glaukon. — " Well, then," 
says Socrates, "in order to avoid this mistake, you must know 
the strength of the city and of its rivals. Tell us first the 
amount of our infantry, and of our naval force, and then that 
of our opponents." — " 0, I cannot tell you that off-hand and 
without reference." — "Well, but if you have made memoranda 
on these subjects, fetch them. I should like to hear." — "No : 
in fact," he said, "I have no written memoranda on this sub- 
ject." — " So. Then we must at any rate not begin with war : 
and indeed it is not unlikely that you have deferred this as too 
weighty a matter for the very beginning of your statesmanship. 
Tell us then about our frontier fortresses, and our garrisons 
there, that we may introduce improvement and economy by 
suppressing the superfluous ones." — Here Glaukon has an 
opinion, probably the popular one of the day. "I would," he 
says, " suppress them all. I know that they keep guard so ill 
there, that the produce of the country is stolen." — Socrates 



B. C 47 0-400.] SOCRATES. 119 

suggests that the abolition of guards altogether would not 
remedy this, and asks Glaukon whether he knows by personal 
examination that they keep guard ill. — "No," he says, "but I 
guess it." — Socrates then suggests that it will be best to defer 
this point also, and to act when we do not guess, but know. — 
Glaukon assents that this may be the better w r ay. — Socrates 
then proceeds to propound to Glaukon, in the same manner, 
the revenue which Athens derived from the silver mines, and 
the causes of its decrease ; the supply of corn, of which there 
was a large import into Attica ; and Glaukon is obliged to 
allow that these are affairs of formidable magnitude. 

But yet Socrates urges, " No one can manage even one 
household without knowing and attending to such matters. 
Now as it must be more difficult to provide for ten thousand 
houses than for one, he remarks that it may be best for him to 
begin with one ; and suggests, as a proper case to make the 
experiment upon, the household of Glaukon's uncle, Charmides ; 
for he really needs help." — "Yes," says Glaukon, "and I 
would manage my uncle's household, but he will not let me." 
And then Socrates comes in with an overwhelming retort : 
" And so," he says, " though you cannot persuade your uncle 
to allow you to manage for him, you still think you can per- 
suade the whole body of the Athenians, your uncle among the 
rest, to allow you to manage for them." And he then adds 
the moral of the conversation : What a dangerous thing it is 
to meddle, either in word or in act, with what one does not 
know. 

CONCLUSION OF SOCRATES' DEFENCE. 

I say then to you, Athenians, who have condemned me 
to death, that immediately after my death a punishment will 
overtake you, far more severe, by Jupiter, than that which you 
have inflicted on me. For you have done this, thinking you 
should be freed from the necessity of giving an account of your 
life. The very contrary, however, as I affirm, will happen to 
you. Your accusers will be more numerous, whom I have now 
restrained, though you did not perceive it ; and they will be 
more severe, inasmuch as they are younger, and you will be more 
indignant. For, if you think that by putting men to death you 
will restrain any one from upbraiding you because you do not 
live well, you are much mistaken ; for this method of escape is 
neither possible nor honorable, but that other is most honor- 
able and most easy, not to put a check upon others, but for a 



120 SOCRATES. [b. c. 4? 0-400. 

man to take heed to himself, how he may be most perfect. 
Having predicted thus much to those of you who have con- 
demned me, I take my leave of you. 

But with you who have voted for my acquittal, I would 
gladly hold converse on what has now taken place, while the 
magistrates are busy and I am not yet carried to the place 
where I must die. Stay with me, then, so long, Athenians, 
for nothing hinders our conversing with each other, whilst we 
are permitted to do so ; for I wish to make known to you, as 
being my friends, the meaning of that which has just now 
befallen me. To me, then, my judges — and in calling you 
judges I call you rightly — a strange thing has happened. For 
the wonted prophetic voice of my guardian deity, on every 
former occasion, even in the most trifling affairs, opposed me, 
if I was about to do anything wrong ; but now, that has be- 
fallen me which ye yourselves behold, and which any one would 
think and which is supposed to be the extremity of evil, yet 
neither when I departed from home in the morning did the 
warning of the god oppose me, nor when I came up here to 
the place of trial, nor in my address when I was about to say 
auything ; yet on other occasions it has frequently restrained 
me in the midst of speaking. But now, it has never through- 
out this proceeding opposed me, either in what I did or said. 
What then do I suppose to be the cause of this ? I will tell 
you : what has befallen me appears to be a blessing ; and it 
is impossible that we think rightly who suppose that death is 
an evil. A great proof of this to me is the fact that it is im- 
possible but that the accustomed signal should have opposed 
me, unless I had been about to meet with some good. 

Moreover, we may hence conclude that there is great hope 
that death is a blessing. For to die is one of two things : for 
either the dead may be annihilated and have no sensation of 
anything whatever ; or, as it is said, there is a certain change 
and passage of the soul from one place to another. And if it 
is a privation of all sensation, as it were a sleep in which the 
sleeper has no dream, death would be a wonderful gain. For 
I think that if any one, having selected a night, in which he 
slept so soundly as not to have had a dream, and having com- 
pared this night with all the other nights and days of his life, 
should be required on consideration to say how many days and 
nights he had passed better and more pleasantly than this night 
throughout his life, I think that not only a private person, but 
even the great king himself would find them easy to number in 
comparison with other days and nights. If, therefore, death 



B. C. 410-400.] SOCRATES. 121 

is a thing of this kind, I say it is a gain ; for thus all futurity- 
appears to be nothing more than one night. But if, on the 
other hand, death is a removal from hence to another place, 
and what is said be true, that all the dead are there, what 
greater blessing can there be than this, my judges? For if, 
on arriving at Hades, released from these who pretend to be 
judges, one shall find those who are true judges, and who are 
said to judge there, Minos and Rhadamanthus, iEacus and 
Triptolemus, and such others of the demigods as were just 
during their own life, would this be a sad removal ? At what 
price would you not estimate a conference with Orpheus and 
Musseus, Hesiod and Homer ? I indeed should be willing to 
die often, if this be true. For to me the sojourn there would 
be admirable, when I should meet with Palamedes, and Ajax 
son of Telamon, and any other of the ancients who has died by 
an unjust sentence. The comparing my sufferings with theirs 
would, I think, be no unpleasing occupation. But the greatest 
pleasure would be to spend my time in questioning and exa- 
mining the people there as I have done those here, and dis- 
covering who among them is wise, and who fancies himself to 
be so, but is not. At what price, my judges, would not any 
one estimate the opportunity of questioning him who led that 
mighty army against Troy; or Ulysses, or Sisyphus, or ten 
thousand othsrs, whom one might mention, both men and 
women ? with whom to converse and associate, and to question 
them, would be an inconceivable happiness. Surely for that 
the judges there do not condemn to death ; for in other respects 
those wTio live there are more happy than those that are here, 
and are henceforth immortal, if at least what is said be true. 

You, therefore, O my judges, ought to entertain good hopes 
with respect to death, and to meditate on this one truth, that 
to a good man nothing is evil, neither while living nor when 
dead, nor are his concerns neglected by the gods. And what 
has befallen me is not the effect of chance ; but this is clear to 
me, that now to die, and be freed from my cares, is better for 
me. On this account the warning in no way turned me aside ; 
and I bear no resentment towards those who condemned me, 
or against my accusers, although they did not condemn and 
accuse me with this intention, but thinking to injure me: in 
this they deserve to be blamed. 

But it is now time to depart — for me to die, for you to live. 
But which of us is going to a better state is unknown to every- 
one but God. 
11. 



122 sappho. [b. c. 600. 



SAPPHO, i 

FLOURISHED ABOUT 600 13. C. 

Does Sappho then beneath thy bosom rest, 
JEolian earth? — that mortal Muse confest 
Inferior only to the choir above, 
That foster-child of Venus and of LoTe ; 
Warm from whose lips divine Persuasion came, 
Greece to delight, and raise the Lesbian name? 
Oh ye — who ever twine the threefold thread, 
Ye Fates — why number with the silent dead 
That niighty songstress, whose unrivall'd powers 
Weave for the Muse a crown of deathless flowers? 

Translated frum Antipater of Sidon. 

But lo, to Sappho's melting airs 
Descends the radiant Queen of Love. 

Akenside. 

Childe Harold sailed, and passed the barren spot 

Where sad Penelope o'erlooked the ware, 
And onward viewed the mount, not yet forgot, 

The lover's refuge and the Lesbian's grave. 

Dark Sappho ! could not verse immortal save 
That breast imbued with such immortal fire ? 

Byron. 

Sappho, the most celebrated for genius of all the females of antiquity, 
was born at Mitylene, in Lesbos, and was a contemporary with Alcseus. 
The precise time of her birth is uncertain, but the most reliable 
authorities place it about 632 B. C. Very little is known of her life. 
She was married to a Lesbian of the name of Cerculus, by whom she 
had a daughter named Cleis ; but her husband dying soon after, she 
passed the remainder of her life in a state of widowhood. She was 
a woman of the liveliest fancy and the most ardent temperament, and 
she expressed the warm feelings of her heart with great freedom. 
Hence the calumnies that in a later age (not by any of her contem- 
poraries) were fabricated against her. But, as Miiller well remarks, 
" the strict morality with which she reproves the licentiousness of her 
brother Charaxus, fully acquits her of levity of character, inasmuch 
as her reproof would have been her own condemnation." The stories 
which were first fabricated against her, and handed down, without 
examination, from generation to generation, namely, her love for the 
youth Phaon, and her despairing leap from the Leucadian promontory 
(commonly called the lover's leap), are doubtless myths, as the name 
of Phaon does not once occur in the fragments she has left, and there 

1 In some unaccountable manner my manuscript of Sappho got mislaid, 
and hence she appears here not in chronological order. But this mistake 
will be corrected in the next edition. 



b. c. 600.] sappiio. 123 

is no evidence that it was once mentioned in her poems ; and " as for 
the leap from the rock of Leucate, it is a mere metaphor, which is 
taken from an expiatory rite connected with the worship of Apollo, 
which seems to have been a frequent poetical image." 1 

Concerning the relations of Sappho to her own sex, she appears to 
have been the centre of a female literary society, most of the members 
of which were her pupils in the technical portion of her art ; which 
position she held till near the close of her life. After her death the 
Mitylenians did her public honors, and so sensible were they of her 
worth as a poetess, that they coined money impressed with her like- 
ness. 

As to the poems of Sappho, it may safely be affirmed that their loss 
is the greatest over which we have to mourn, in the whole range of 
Greek literature, at least of the imaginative species. The fragments 
that survive, though some of them are exquisite, barely furnish a 
sample of the surpassing beauty of the whole. They are chiefly of an 
erotic character ; and at the head of this class must be placed that 
splendid ode to Aphrodite (Venus), of which we perhaps possess the 
whole. "In these most delicious love-songs, the tide of passion seems 
deep and exhaustless ; it flows rapidly yet gently on, while the most 
sparkling fancy is playing over it ; and the words themselves seem to 
participate in the sentiment which they develop." It is a mistake, 
however, to imagine that the fragments of this delightful poetess are 
nothing more than the eloquent expressions of amatory feeling ; for 
they are really works of high imagination, which renders them as 
beautiful as they are intense, and, in the opinion of some writers, raises 
them even to the sublime. 2 



HYMN TO VENUS. 



0, Venus, beauty of the skies ! 

To whom a thousand altars rise, 

Gayly false in gentle smiles, 

Full of love-perplexing wiles, 

O, goddess, from my heart remove 

The wasting cares and pains of love. 

If ever thou hast kindly heard 
A song in soft distress preferr'd, 



1 Philip Smith, B. A. of the University College, London. 

2 Longinus quotes the celebrated ode "to her Loved One," as an example 
of sublimity. 



124 sappho. [b. c. 600. 

Propitious to my tuneful vow, 
0, gentle goddess, hear me now. 
Descend, thou bright immortal guest, 
In all thy radiant charms confest. 

Thou once did leave almighty Jove, 
And all the golden roofs above : 
The car thy wanton sparrows drew ; 
Hovering in air they lightly flew ; 
As to my bower they winged their way, 
I saw their quivering pinions play. 

The birds dismiss'd (while you remain). 
Bore back the empty car again : 
Then you, with looks divinely mild, 
In every heavenly feature smil'd, 
And ask'd what new complaints I made, 
And why I call'd you to my aid ? 

"What frenzy in my bosom raged, 
And by what care to be assuaged ? 
What gentle youth I would allure, 
"Whom in my artful toils secure ? 
Who does thy tender heart subdue ? 
Tell me, my Sappho, tell me who ! 

Though now he shuns thy longing arms, 
He soon shall court thy slighted charms ; 
Though now thy offerings he despise, 
He soon to thee shall sacrifice ; 
Though now he freeze, he soon shall burn, 
And be thy victim in his turn. 

Celestial visitant, once more 
Thy needful presence I implore ! 
In pity come and ease my grief, 
Bring my distempered soul relief: 
Favor thy suppliant's hidden fires, 
And give me all my heart desires. 

PA Mips, 



ANOTHER VERSION OF THE SAME. 

Immortal Venus, throned above, 
In radiant beauty ! Child of Jore ! 
skilled in every art of love 

And playful snare ; 
Dread power, to whom I bend the knee, 
Release my soul, and set it free 
From bonds of piercing agony. 

And gloomy care. 



b. c. 600.] sappho. 125 

Yea. come thyself ! — If e'er, benign, 
Thy listening ear thou didst incline 
To my rude lay, the starry shine 

Of Jove's court leaving, 
In chariot yoked with coursers fair, 
# Thine own immortal birds, that bear 
Thee swift to earth, the middle air 

With bright wings cleaving: — 

Soon were they sped — and thou, most blest, 
In thine own smiles ambrosial drest, 
Didst ask what griefs my mind opprest — 

What meant my song — 
What end my frenzied thoughts pursue — 
For what loved youth I spread anew 
My amorous nets — " Who, Sappho, who 

Hath done thee wrong ? 

What though he fly, he'll soon return — 
Himself shall give, though now he spurn ; 
Heed not his coldness — soon he '11 burn, 

E'en though thou chide." 
And said'st thou this, dread goddess ? — 0, 
Come thou once more to ease my wo ! 
Grant all ! — and thy great self bestow, 

My shield and guide ! 

MJsrivale. 



A YOUTH TO HIS BELOVED. 

Blest as the gods, methinks, is he, 
Th' enamored youth that sits by thee, 
Hearing thy silver tones the while, 
Warmed by thy love-exciting smile. 

While gazing on thee, fair and blest, 
What transports heav'd my glowing breast ! 
My faltering accents soon grew weak, 
My quivering lips refused to speak. 

My voice was lost — the subtle flame 
Of love pervaded all my frame ; 
O'er my film'd eyes a darkness hung, 
"My ears with hollow murmurs rung." 

Cold moisture every pore distilFd, 
My frame a sudden tremor chill'd, 
My color went — I felt decay, 
I sunk — and fell — and swoon'd away. 
11* 



126 SOPHOCLES. [B. C. 4G0. 



THE IMMORTALITY OF LITERARY FAME. 1 
[A Fragment.} 

Whenever Death shall seize thy mortal frame, 

Oblivion's pen shall blot thy worthless name ; 

For thy rnde hand ne'er plucked the beauteous rose 

That on Pieria's 2 sky-clad summit blows : 

Thy paltry soul with vilest souls shall go 

To Pluto's kingdom — scenes of endless wo ; 

While I on golden wings ascend to fame, 

And leave behind a muse-enamored, deathless name. 

LOVE. 

[A Fragment.'] 

Mother! sweet mother! 'tis in vain — 

I cannot now the shuttle throw ; 
That youth is in my heart and brain, 

And Love's absorbing fires within me glow. 



SOPHOCLES. 

FLOURISHED ABOUT 460 B. C. 

Wiud, gentle evergreen, to form a shade 
Around the tomb where Sophocles is laid ; 
Sweet ivy, wind thy boughs and intertwine 
With blushing roses and the clustering vine ; 
Thus will thy lasting leaves with beauties hung, 
Prove grateful emblems of the lays he sung, 
Whose soul exalted by the god of wit, 
Amoug the Muses and' the Graces writ. 

Translated from Simmias the Theban. 

Sophocles was born at Athens B. C. 495. His father, though a poor 
mechanic, had the discrimination as well as generosity to bestow an 

1 Passionately devoted to literature herself, Sappho, in this fragment, 
pours out her whole soul in indignation against an associate who had pro- 
bably derided her talents, or stigmatized her poetical labors as unsuited to 
her sex and condition. But she is not alone in promising to herself immor- 
tality, for Virgil, Horace, and Ovid have been their own heralds to posterity. 
See the closing lines of the Metamorphoses of the latter, in this book. 

J Pieria was a region in the North of Thessaly dedicated to the Muses ; 
hence they are sometimes called "the Pierian maids ;" and hence the word 
Pieria is, by Pope, put for knowledge in general. 

"A little learning is a dangerous thing ; 
Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian Spring." 



b. o. 4G0.] soniocLES. 121 

excellent education upon liis son, whose great powers began early to 
unfold themselves, and to attract the notice of the first citizens of 
Athens. Before he had attained his twenty-fifth year he carried off 
the prize in a dramatic contest against his senior, iEschylus ; and his 
subsequent career corresponded to this splendid beginning. He is 
said to have composed one hundred and twenty tragedies ; to have 
gained the first prize twenty-four times ; and on other occasions to 
have ranked second in the list of competing poets. So excellent was 
his conduct, so majestic his wisdom, so exquisite his poetical capaci- 
ties, so rare his skill in all the fine arts, and so uninterrupted his 
prosperity, that the Greeks regarded him as the peculiar favorite of 
heaven. He lived in the first city of Greece, and throughout her best 
times, commanding an admiration and love amounting to reverence. 
He died in extreme old age, without disease and without suffering, 
and was mourned with such a sincerity and depth of grief as were 
manifested at the death of no other citizen of Athens. 1 

" The great and distinguishing excellence of Sophocles will be found 
in his exquisite sense of the beautiful and the perfect harmony of all 
his powers. His conceptions are not on so gigantic a scale as those of 
iEschylus, but in the circle which he prescribes to himself to fill, not 
a space is left unadorned ; not a niche without its appropriate figure ; * 
not the smallest ornament which is incomplete in the minutest graces. 
His judgment seems absolutely perfect, for he never fails ; he is 
always fully master both of himself and his subject; he knows the 
precise measure of his own capacities ; and while he never attempts 
a flight beyond his reach, he never debases himself, or his art, by 
anything beneath him. In reading him, we seem always to breathe 

1 Sophocles appears, indeed, to have had every element which, in the 
judgment of a Greek, would go to make up a perfect character : the greatest 
beauty and symmetry of form ; the highest skill in those arts which were 
prized above all others, music and gymnastics, of which the latter developed 
that bodily perfection which always adorns if it does not actually contribute 
to intellectual greatness, while the former was not only essential to his art 
as a dramatist, but was also justly esteemed by the Greeks as one of the 
chiefest instruments in moulding the character of a man ; a constitutional 
calmness and contentment, which seems hardly ever to have been disturbed, 
and which was probably the secret of that perfect mastery over the passions 
of others which his tragedies exhibit; a cheerful and amiable demeanor, 
•and a ready wit, which won for him the affectionate admiration of those 
with whom he associated ; a spirit of tranquil and meditative piety, in har- 
mony with his natural temperament, and fostered by the scenes in which he 
spent his childhood and the subjects to which he devoted his life ; a power 
of intellect, and a spontaneity of genius, of which his extant tragedies are 
the splendid, though mutilated monument. Such are the leading features of 
a character, which the very harmony of its parts makes it difficult to portray 
with any vividness. — Philip Smith, of University College, London. 



128 Sophocles. [b. c. 460. 

the pure air of Attica, and expatiate on a sky without a cloud. From 
his figures a sweet music seems to breathe, such as comes over the 
soul with delight, from the contemplation of the Apollo Belvidere or 
the Elgin Marbles. His philosophy is 'musical as is Apollo's lute;' 
his wisdom is made visible in the form of beauty. His choral songs, 
which are the reflective expressions of the feeling which the tragedy 
should inspire, are full of the noblest passages to which this praise is 
pre-eminently due. He was undoubtedly the first philosophical poet 
of the ancient world. With his pure taste for the graceful, he per- 
ceived, amidst the sensible forms around him, one universal Spirit of 
Love pervading all things. Virtue and justice, to his mind, did not 
appear the mere creatures of convenience, or the means of gratifying 
the refined selfishness of man ; he saw them, having deep root in 
eternity, unchanging and imperishable as their divine Author. In a 
single stanza he has expressed this sentiment, with a plenitude of 
inspiration before which the philosophy of expediences vanish — a 
passage that has neither parallel nor equal in its kind, that we recol 
lect, in the whole compass of heathen poetry, and may be rendered 
thus : — 

O for a spotless purity of action and of speech, according 
to those sublime laws of right, which have the heavens for 
their birthplace, and God alone for their author — which the 
decays of mortal nature cannot vary, nor time cover witli 
oblivion ; for the divinity is mighty within them, and waxes 
not old!'— (Ed. Tyran." 

Of the one hundred and thirty plays ascribed to Sophocles there 
are but seven extant, namely, Antigone, Electra, Trachiniae, (Edipus 
Tyrannus, Ajax, Philoctetes, and (Edipus Coloneus. 

The subject of the Antigone is very simple. On the death of CEdipus, 
Creon becomes King of Thebes. Eteocles and Polynices, the sons of the 
deceased monarch, CEdipus, invade the kingdom, but in the assault 
fall before the walls of Thebes. Eteocles is buried with honor, but 
the rites of burial are refused to Polynices by Creon, who forbids any 
one on pain of death to perform the last, sad offices, regarded by the 
ancients as of such solemn importance, and considered as essential to 
the repose of the soul of the dead. Antigone, his sister, notwithstand- 
ing the command of the tyrant, determines to bury the body with her 
own hands. She is detected in the act, and Creon gave orders that 
she should be buried alive. Her lover, Hseinon, the son of Creon, 

1 See Thomas Noon TalfourcTs "Essay on Greek Poetry." 



B. C. 460 ] SOPHOCLES. 129 

unable to avert her fate, would not survive her, and fell by his own 
hand. In this play Sophocles has shown that, in an age when women 
were scarcely regarded as reasonable beings, he estimated the true 
nobleness of the female heart. The heroism of Antigone springs not 
from ambition, but has its root in the purest affection, the most dis- 
interested love. She exhibits the most glorious perfection of the 
female character. All is pure, spotless, unearthly ; and, with the 
exception of Alcestis, there is no female portrait in all the works of 
antiquity which approaches this. 1 



1 The following beautiful comparison between Antigone and Cordelia, 
may be found in Mrs. Jameson's "Characteristics of Women" : — 

The character which at once suggests itself in comparison with Cordelia, 
as the heroine of filial tenderness and piety, is certainly the Antigone of 
Sophocles. As poetical conceptions, they rest on the same basis — they are 
both pure abstractions of truth, piety, and natural affection; and in both, 
love, as a passion, is kept entirely out of sight — for though the womanly 
character is sustained, by making them the objects of devoted attachment ; 
yet to have portrayed them as influenced by passion would have destroyed 
that unity of purpose and feeling which is one source of power ; and, besides, 
have disturbed that serene purity and grandeur of soul which equally dis- 
tinguishes both heroines. The spirit, however, in which the two characters 
are conceived, is as different as possible, and we must not fail to remark that 
Antigone, who plays a principal part in two fine tragedies, and is distinctly 
and completely made out, is considered as a masterpiece, the very triumph 
of the ancient classical drama ; whereas, there are many among Shakspeare's 
characters which ^re equal to Cordelia as dramatic conceptions, and superior 
to her in finishing of outline, as well as in the richness of poetical coloring. 

When CBdipus, pursued by the vengeance of the gods, deprived of sight 
by his own mad act, and driven from Thebes by his subjects and his sons, 
wanders forth, abject and forlorn, he is supported by his daughter Antigone, 
who leads him from city to city, begs for him, and pleads for him against the 
harsh, rude men, who, struck more by his guilt than his misery, would drive 
him from his last asylum. In the opening of the " CEdipus Coloneus," where 
the wretched old man appears leaning on his child, and seats himself in the 
consecrated Grove of the Furies, the picture presented to us is wonderfully 
solemn and beautiful. The patient, duteous tenderness of Antigone ; the 
scene in which she pleads for her brother Polynices, and supplicates her 
father to receive his offending son ; her remonstrance to Polynices, when 
she entreats him not to carry the threatened war into his native country, 
are finely and powerfully delineated ; and in her lamentation over OEdipus, 
when he perishes in the mysterious grove, there is a pathetic beauty, appa- 
rent even through the stiffness of the translation. 

Alas ! I only wished I might have died 

With my poor father ; wherefore should I ask 

For longer life ? 

O, I was fond of misery with him ; 

E'en what was most unlovely grew heloved 

When he was with me. O, my dearest father, 

Beneath the earth now in deep darkness hid, 

Worn as thou wert with age, to me thou still 

Wert dear, and shall he ever. 

— Even as he wished he died, 

In a strange laud — for such was his desire — ' 



130 SOPHOCLES. [b. c. 460. 



CREON. —ANTIGONE. — CHORUS. 

Cr. Answer, then — 

Bending thy head to earth, dost thou confess, 
Or canst deny the charge ?' 

Ant. I do confess it 

Freely ; I scorn to disavow the act. 

Cr. Reply with answer "brief to one plain question, 
Without evasion. Didst thou know the law, 
That none should do this deed ? 

Ant. I knew it well : 

How could I fail to know ? it was most plain. 

Cr. Didst thou then dare transgress our royal mandate ? 

Ant. Ne'er did eternal Jove such laws ordain, 
Or Justice, throned amid th' infernal powers, 
Who on mankind these holier rites imposed — 
Nor can I deem thine edict armed with power 
To contravene the firm unwritten laws 

A shady turf covered his lifeless limbs, 
Nor un'lamented fell ! for these eyes, 
My father, still shall weep for thee^ nor time 
E'er blot thee from my memory. 

The filial piety of Antigone is the most affecting part of the tragedy of 
" CEdipus Coloneus;" her sisterly affection, and her heroic self-devotion to a 
religious duty, form the plot of the tragedy called by her name. When her 
two brothers, Eteocles and Polynices, had slain each other before the walls 
of Thebes, Creon issued an edict forbidding the rites of sepulture to Polynices 
(as the invader of his country), and awarding instant death to those who 
should dare to bury him. We know the importance which the ancients at- 
tached to the funeral obsequies, as alone securing their admission into the 
Elysian fields. Antigone, upon hearing the law of Creon, which thus carried 
vengeance beyond the grave, enters in the first scene, announcing her fixed 
resolution to brave the threatened punishment ; her sister Ismene shrinks 
from sharing the peril of such an undertaking, and endeavors to dissuade ber 
from it, on which Antigone replies — 

Wert thou to proffer what I do not ask — 

Thy poor assistance — I would scorn it now ; 

Act as thou wilt, I '11 bury him myself; 

Let me perform but that, and death is welcome. 

I '11 do the pious deed, and lay me down 

By my dear brother ; loving and beloved, 

We '11 rest together. 

She proceeds to execute her generous purpose ; she covers with earth the 
mangled corpse of Polynices, pours over it the accustomed libations, is de- 
tected in her pious office, and, after nobly defending her conduct, is led to 
death by command of the tyrant : her sister Ismene, struck with shame and 
remorse, now comes forward to accuse herself as a partaker in the offence, 
and share her sister's punishment, but Antigone sternly and scornfully rejects 
her ; and after pouring forth a beautiful lamentation on the misery of dying 
"without the nuptial song — a virgin and a slave," she dies a V antique — she 
strangles herself to avoid a lingering death. 

1 That she has buried her brother. 



B, C w 460.] SOPHOCLES. 131 

Of the just gods, thyself a weak frail mortal ! 

These are no laws of yesterday — they live 

For evermore, and none can trace their birth. 1 

I would not dare, by mortal threat appalled, 

To violate their sanction, and incur 

The vengeance of the gods. I knew before 

That I must die, though thou hadst ne'er proclaim'd it, 

And if I perish ere th' allotted term, 

I deem that death a blessing. Who that lives, 

Like me, encompassed by unnumbered ills, 

But would account it blessedness to die ? 

If then I meet the doom thy laws assign, 

It nothing grieves me. Had I left my brother, 

From my own mother sprung, on the bare earth 

To lie unburied, that, indeed, might grieve me ; 

But for this deed I mourn not. If to thee 

Mine actions seem unwise, 'tis thine own soul 

That errs from wisdom, when it deems me senseless. 

Chorus. This maiden shows her father's stubborn soul, 
And scorns to bend beneath misfortune's power. 

Cr. Yet thou might'st know, that loftiest spirits oft 
Are bowed to deepest shame ; and thou might'st mark 
The hardest metal soft and ductile made 
By the resistless energy of flame ; 
Oft, too, the fiery courser have I seen 
By a small bit constrained. High, arrogant thoughts 
Beseem not one whose duty is submission. 
In this presumption she was lessened first 
When our imperial laws she dared to spurn, 
And to that insolent wrong fresh insult adds, 
In that she glories, vaunting of the deed. 
Henceforth no more deem mine a manly soul ; — 
Concede that name to hers, if from this crime 
She shall escape unpunished. Though she spring 

1 Franklin thus translates this — 

" I had it not from Jove, nor the jnst gods 
Who rule below; nor could I ever think 
A mortal's law of power or strength sufficient 
To abrogate the unwritten law divine, 
Immutable, eternal, not like these 
Of yesterday, but made ere time began." 

These noble sentiments, uttered nearly five hundred years before Christ, 
may well put to shame many professing Christians in the middle of the nine- 
teenth century ! The scenes are too recent for us to forget how those true 
Christian Statesmen, Charles Sumner and William H. Seward (1850-1852) 
were grossly abused, because in their places in the United States Senate, 
while speaking against the "Fugitive Slave Act" of world-renowned infamy, 
they appealed to a "higher law" as of more imperative obligation than any 
that man could enact. In numerous papers, and even by some so-called 
"divines," they were sneered at as " higher law men." With what power 
might they have quoted these high-principled words of the "heathen" 
Sophocles ! 



132 sornocLES. [b. c. 460. 

From our own sister, she shall not evade 
A shameful death. 

Ant. And welcome ! Whence could I 

Obtain a holier praise than by committing 
My brother to the tomb ? These, too, I know 
Would all. approve the action, but that fear 
Curbs their free thoughts to base and servile silence ; 
But 'tis the noble privilege of tyrants 
To say and do whate'er their lordly will, 
Their only law, may prompt. 

Cr. Of all the Thebans 

Dost thou alone see this ? 

Ant. They, too, behold it, 

But fear constrains them to an abject silence. 

Cr. Doth it not shame thee to dissent from these ? 

Ant. I cannot think it shame to love my brother. 

Cr. Was not he too, who died for Thebes, thy brother ? 

Ant. He was ; and of the self-same parents born. 

Cr. Why then dishonor him to grace the guilty ? 

Ant. The dead entombed will not attest thy words. 

Cr. Yes ; if thou honor with an equal doom 
That impious wretch. 

Ant. He did not fall a slave ; 

He was my brother. 

Cr. Yet he wronged his country ; 

The other fought undaunted in her cause. 

Ant. Still death at least demands an equal law. 

Cr. Ne'er should the base be honored like the noble. 

Ant. Who knows, if this be holy in the shades ? 

Cr. Death cannot change a foe into a friend. 

Ant. My nature tends to mutual love, not hatred. 

Cr. Then to the grave, and love them, if thou must. 
But while I live no woman shall bear sway. 

Dale. 

The following passage is from the tragedy of Electra, and contains an 
animated and faithful picture of an exhibition of the Pythian races; 
Orestes had attained five victories in the first day, and on the second 
he starts with nine conrpetitors in the chariot race : an Achaean, a 
Spartan, two Libyans, an JEtolian, a Magnesian, an 03nian, an Athe- 
nian, and a Boeotian. 



A CHARIOT RACE. 

They took their stand where the appointed judges 
Had cast their lots, and ranged their rival cars ; 
Rang out the brazen trump ! Away they bound, 
Cheer the hot steeds and shake the darkening rein.-. 
As with a body the large space is filled 



B. C. 460.] SOPHOCLES. 133 

With the huge clangor of the rattling cars : 

High whirl aloft the dust-clouds ; blent together 

Each presses each — and the lash rings — and loud 

Snort the wild steeds, and from their fiery breath, 

Along the manes and down the circling wheels, 

Scatter the flaking foam. Orestes still, 

Ay, as he swept around the perilous pillar 

Last in the course, wheel'd in the rushing axle, 

The left rein curbed — that on the outer hand 

Flung loose. So on erect the chariots rolled ! 

Sudden the (Enian's fierce and headlong steeds 

Broke from the bit, and, as the seventh time now 

The course was circled, on the Libyan car 

Dash'd their wild fronts : then order changed to ruin : 

Car dashed on car — the wide Crissaean plain 

Was, sea-like, strewn with wrecks : the Athenian saw, 

Slackened his speed, and, wheeling round the marge, 

Unscathed and skilful, in the midmost space, 

Left the wild tumult of that tossing storm. 

Behind, Orestes, hitherto the last, 

Had yet kept back his coursers for the close ; 

Now one sole rival left— on, on he flew, 

And the sharp sound of the impelling scourge 

Bang in the keen ears of the flying steeds. 

He nears — he reaches — they are side by side : 

Now one — now th' other — by a length the victor. 

The courses all are past — the wheels erect — 

All safe — when as the hurrying coursers round 

The fatal pillar dash'd, the wretched boy 

Slackened the left rein ; on the column's edge 

Crash'd the frail axle — headlong from the car, 

Caught and all meshed within the reins he fell ; 

And, masterless, the mad steeds raged along ! 

Loud from that mighty multitude arose 

A shriek — a shout ! But yesterday such deeds — 

To-day such doom ! Now whirled upon the earth, 

Now his limbs dash'd aloft, they dragged him — those 

Wild horses — till all gory from the wheels 

Released — and no man, not his nearest friends, 

Could in that mangled corpse have traced Orestes. 

They laid the body on the funeral pyre, 

And while we speak, the Phocian strangers bear, 

In a small, brazen, melancholy urn, 

That handful of cold ashes to which all 

The grandeur of the beautiful hath shrunk. 

Within they bore him— in his father's land 

To find that heritage — a tomb ! 

Btdwer. 

12 



134 sophccles. [b. c. 460. 



HUMAN LIFE. 
STKOrilE I. 

Estranged from wisdom's rule appears 

The man, whose restless mind 
Aspires to life beyond the years 

To mortal date assigned. 
Years linger on ; but in their train 
Lead cares more restless, keener pain ; 
And when beyond Hope's utmost bound 

Thy wish is won, ah what can cheer 

The joyless breast, when, hovering near, 
Relentless Death has frowned ? 
No festive dance, or nuptial wreath, 

Or magic of the melting lyre, 

Can wake in age the stifled fire, 
Or charm the sleep of death. 

ANTISTROPHE I. 

better were it not to be ; — 

Or when the infant-eye 
Opens on light and misery, 

To pass in that first sigh 
Whence first we came. Youth onward speeds, 
And in his train of folly leads 
Delusive pleasures, light and vain : — 

What restless toils are absent there, 

What woes, swift darkening to despair? 
In that disastrous train 

Are Strife, Sedition, Envy, Wrath ; 
While Age, morose with countless woes, 
Dark, cheerless, friendless, waits to close 

The drear and downward, path. 

Dale. 

The (Edipus Tyrannus is considered the masterpiece of Sophocles. 
The following is from the concluding act of the tragedy. OZdipus 
having put out his own eyes in his agony and remorse at the crimes 
he had unconsciously committed, has this colloquy with Creon, his 
successor to the throne of Thebes : — ' 

1 The best editions of Sophocles are those of Brunck, four volumes 8vo.; 
of Erfurdt, with Scolia, Notes, and Indexes, Leipsic, 1802-1825, seven 
volumes 8vo. ; and of Schneider, with German notes and a Lexicon, ten 
volumes 8vo. The English versions are by Franklin, 1758. Potter, 1788, and 
Dale, 1824; which last has a good introduction. The admirable Lexicon 
Sophocleum, by Ellendt, in two volumes, has been abridged and translated, 
and published in one volume 8vo., by Talboys, Oxford, and will be found 
of great service to the student of Sophocles. 



B. C. 460.] SOPHOCLES. 135 



CREON. — 03DIPUS. 

Cr. I come not to insult thee, CEdipus, 
Or add recrimination to thy sorrows. 
But you, if nought of reverence ye retain 
For those of mortal birth, at least respect 
The all-sustaining flame of yon fair sun, 
Nor drag the dire pollution into light, 
Which nor the earth, nor heaven-descending rain, 
Nor day's broad light can evermore endure. 
Haste, and immure him instantly within, 
For decency demands that kindred ears 
Alone should listen to a kinsman's woes. 

(Ed. Now by the gods, since thou hast passed my hopes, 
And, best thyself of men, dost freely come 
To me the most abandoned, grant one boon — 
Not for myself, but thee, I ask. 

Cr. What boon 

Would'st thou of me so fervently implore ? 

(Ed. Drive me from Thebes afar, where never more 
May I e'er hold communion with mankind. 

Cr. This had I done, be well assured, but first 
'Tis meet to ask the pleasure of the god. 

(Ed. That pleasure hath already been declared ; 
lie dooms the impious parricide to death. 

Cr. Thus hath he willed ; yet in so dark a crisis 
'Tis better far again to ask his pleasure. 

(Ed. Wilt thou consult him for a wretch like me ? 

Cr. Thy fall hath taught us to revere his truth. 

(Ed. I charge and will adjure thee to entomb 
W T ith decent rites the dead who lies within — 
Such office best beseems thy kindred blood. 
Nor longer let my native city deign 
To grant me refuge in her friendly walls ; 
But drive me hence, to dwell on that wild, mount, 
My own Cithseron called, which erst my parents, 
While yet I lived, designed my sepulchre ; — 
As they my death ordained, so let me die. 
Too well I know, nor blight of keen disease, 
Nor other ill could slay me. I was snatched. 
From death, to dare this more than deadly deed. 
But as our fate began, so let us on. — 
As for my children — for my sons, Creon, 
Take no solicitude — for they are men — 
Where'er they roam, they cannot feel the pangs 
Of piercing penury. — But, ! my daughters ! — 
My much loved daughters ! — in the weak estate 
Of virgin helplessness — who never dwelt 
Apart from their loved father, and with whom 
I ever shared my pomp — my joy — my all, — 



136 sophocles. [b. c. 460. 

Be these thy constant care, and grant me now 

To clasp them, and bewail our common woes. 

Assent, king ! — 

0, generous monarch, while my hand may touch them, 

I seem to hold, as though I saw them still. 

What do I say ?— 

Ye gods ! my much loved children do I hear, 

Wailing our woes ? — hath pitying Creon sent 

The dearest pledges of my love to bless me ? 

Are my words true ? 

Cr. They are. My care provided this delight, 
Assured of old what joy their presence gave thee. 

(Ed. O be thou blest for this, and mayst thou find 
The god a better guard than I have found him. 
Where are ye, my sweet children ? Come, come, 
To mine embrace, as to a brother's hands, 
Which yet have quenched a father's eyes in darkness. 
Your father, my poor children (though unseen, 
Unknown the deed), by her who gave me life. 
O'er you I weep — though never more, alas ! 
Can I behold you, — yet I know too well 
That ye must linger on through life in sorrow, 
While bitterest anguish waits you with mankind. 
To what assembled crowds will ye resort, 
What festive scenes, from which with downcast looks 
Ye will not steal dejected to your home, 
Yourselves more wept than that ideal wo ? 
And when in Beauty's vernal pride ye bloom, 
Ah who, my daughters, who in nuptial tie 
Will lead you to his house, nor heed the stain 
Fixed on my wretched parents, and on yours ? 
What taint is wanting ? First, your father slew 
His father ; then, in guilty wedlock linked 
To his own mother, gave you birth, my children, 
From the same source whence his own life he drew. 
Thus will ye be reproached. Who, then, will wed you ? 
None, none, my daughters — ye must pine, alas ! 
Deserted, and with nuptial rites unblessed. 
Son of Menoeceus, since thou now art left 
Sole parent to these orphans (we, who once 
Bore that beloved name, in ruin whelmed), 
Ah, leave them not, for they are still thy kindred, 
To roam in friendless penury, unwedded ; — 
Let not their misery equal their lost father's. 
Ah, pity them, so young, so innocent, 
By every friend deserted, save by thee. 
Assent, most noble monarch, pledge thy hand. 
And ye, my children, were your age mature 
To heed instruction, much would I exhort you. — 
Now would I breathe alone this parting prayer, 
Where'er your destined home, may Heaven assign 
A happier lot than your most wretched father's. 



B. C. 450.] EURIPIDES. 131 



EURIPIDES. 

FLOURISHED ABOUT 450 B. C. 

Divine Euripides, this tomb we see 

So fair, is not a monument for thee, 

So much as thou for it ; since all will own 

That thy immortal fame adorns the stone. 1 

Euripides, the latest in birth of the great Greek tragedians, though 
outlived by Sophocles, was born B. C. 480, the year of the battle of 
Salamis. Thus the three tragic poets of Athens are brought into direct 
connection with the most glorious day of her annals ; for while it is 
said that Euripides first saw the light on the very day of the battle, 
iEschylus, in the maturity of manhood, fought in it; and Sophocles, 
a beautiful boy of fifteen, took part in the chorus at the festival which 
celebrated the victory. 

Euripides spent his youth in perfecting himself in the highest phy- 
sical and mental accomplishments — in gymnastics — in rhetoric under 
Prodicus, in morals under Socrates, and in physics under Anaxagoras. 
He began to compose tragedies at a very early age, for he found the 
theatre a safer and readier medium of diffusing his sentiments than 
through the schools of philosophy. He was very decided in his opinions 
and very bold in uttering them ; and upon one occasion when the 
audience clamorously demanded that a sentiment in the play which 
they were witnessing should be expunged, the poet came forward and 
boldly told them that it was his province to teach them and not theirs 
to instruct him. 2 

In his domestic relations Euripides was very unhappy. He was 
twice married, and both his wives proved unworthy of him. This 
will account for the low moral position which woman so often occu- 
pies in his tragedies, and the very severe remarks which he, here and 
there, vents against the sex. His first wife he was compelled to repu- 
diate for abandoned conduct ; and the second, by her open profligacy, 
caused her husband to be so ridiculed that he was forced to leave 
Athens. On doing so, he repaired to the court of Archelaus, King of 
Macedon, by whom he was received with the most distinguished 

1 Translated from an epigram in the seventh volume of the Greek An- 
thology. 

2 Would that more of our modern "clergy" thus knew their own power 
and province, and had similar courage in proclaiming the truth, and not be 
so fearful of displeasing their congregations ! So did not the apostles : 
" Whether it be right to hearken unto you more than unto God — judge ye." 

12* 



138 EURIPIDES. [b. c. 450. 

honors. There, in peace and ease, he passed the remainder of his days, 
and died in the seventy-fifth year of his age. His remains were 
removed to Pella, where Archelaus honored them with a sumptuous 
funeral, and erected a monument over them. 1 

Euripides wrote about eighty plays, of which eighteen are extant, 
namely, Alcestis, Medea, Hippolytus, Hecuba, Heraclidse, Supplices 
Mulieres, Ion, Hercules Furens, Andromache, Iphigenia at Tauris, 
Troades, Electra, Helena, Iphigenia at Aulis, Bacchae, Phoznissae, 
Cyclops, and Orestes ; all of which are connected with the history and 
mythology of Greece. 2 

The Alcestis'* contains some of the most touching scenes in the whole 

1 In comparing Euripides and the other two masters in Grecian tragedy, 
it may be said that he ranks first in tragic representation and effect ; Sopho- 
cles first in dramatic symmetry and ornament; iEschylus first in poetic vigor 
and grandeur. JEschylus was the most sublime ; Sophocles the most beau- 
tiful ; Euripides the most pathetic. The first displays the lofty intellect; 
the second exercises the cultivated taste ; the third indulges the feeling 
heart. Each, as it were, shows you a fine piece of sculpture. In iEschylus, 
it is a naked hero, with all the strength, boldness, and dignity of olden time. 
In Sophocles and Euripides, it may be perhaps the same hero ; but with the 
former, he has put on the flowing robes, the elegant address, and the soft 
urbanity of a polished age ; with the latter, he is yielding to some melan- 
choly emotion, ever heedless of his posture or gait, and casting his unvalued 
drapery negligently about him. They have been compared by an illustra- 
tion from another art: "The sublime and daring iEschylus resembles some 
strong and impregnable castle situated on a rock, whose martial grandeur 
awes the beholder — its battlements defended by heroes, and its gates proudly 
hung with trophies. Sophocles appears with splendid dignity, like some im- 
perial palace of richest architecture, the symmetry of whose parts and the 
chaste magnificence of the whole delight the eye and command the appro- 
bation of the judgment. The pathetic and moral Euripides hath the solemnity 
of a Gothic temple, whose storied windows admit a dim religious light, enough 
to show its high embowed roof, and the monuments of the dead which rise 
in every part, impressing our minds with pity and terror at the uncertain 
and short duration of human greatness, and with an awful sense of our own 
mortality. ' ' — Potter. 

3 The best modern editions of Euripides are : that of Matthias, Leipsic, 
1813-29. in nine volumes ; the Glasgow edition of 1821, nine volumes 8vo. ; 
and that of Dindorf, 1832 — 40, Oxford, four volumes, large 8vo. The 
chief translations into English, are Potter's, published in Valpey's Clas- 
sical Library, and Woodhull's, which is said to be, by the Critical Review, 
"accurate and just, but inharmonious." A literal translation, by T. A. 
Buckley, may be found in Bonn's Classical Library, two volumes. T. W. C. 
Edwards, London, 1821 — 24, has published editions of Medea, Hecuba, Phoe- 
nissas. and Alcestis, with a literal prose translation. President Woolsey, of 
Yale College, has given us very valuable editions, with English notes, of the 
Alcestis of Euripides, the Antigone and Electra of Sophocles, and the Pro- 
methetis Vinctus of JEschylus. 

3 Founded on the fable of Alcestis dying for her husband Admetus. Milton 
alludes to the story in his " Sonnet on his Deceased Wife" — 

Methought I saw my late espoused saint 
Brought to me like Alcestis from the grave, 
Whom Jove's great sou to her glad hushaud gave, 

Rescued from death by force, though pale and faint. 



B. C. 450.] EURIPIDES. 139 

Grecian drama. The descriptions given of the preparations made by 
the heroic wife for her approaching end— her apostrophe to the nuptial 
chamber — her own gentle departure and leave-taking of life, preceded 
by maternal anxieties and thoughts of love — form an instance of the 
pathetic of which all the works of ancient times can furnish no similar 
example. The scene of the tragedy is laid at Pherae, one of the most 
ancient as well as beautiful cities of Thessaly, and of which Admetus, 
who married Alcestis, daughter of Pelias, so famed for her conjugal 
virtues, was king. In consequence of the kind treatment which 
Apollo, when banished from heaven, received from Admetus, the deity 
prevailed upon the fates to grant that, when the period set to the life 
of Admetus should arrive, it might be prolonged by one of his family 
dying in his stead. This was done by his wife Alcestis, whose fidelity 
and devotion in surrendering herself to death for her husband, but 
who was rescued from the grasp of the grim tyrant by the prowes.s of 
Hercules, are so exquisitely described in this play. 



A SCENE FROM ALCESTIS. 

When she knew 
The destined day was come, in fountain water 
She ba+hed her lily-tinctured limbs, then took 
From her rich chests, of odorous cedar form'd, 
A splendid robe, and her most radiant dress": 
Thus gorgeously array'd, she stood before 
The hallow 'd flames, and thus address 'd her prayer : 
"0 queen, I go to the infernal shades ; 
Yet, ere I go, with reverence let me breathe 
My last request : protect my orphan children ; 
Make my son happy with the wife he loves, 
And wed my daughter to a noble husband ; 
Nor let them, like their mother, to the tomb 
Untimely sink, but in their native land 
Be bless'd through lengthen'd life to honor'd age." 
Then to each altar in the royal house 
She went, and crown'd it, and address'd her vows, 
Plucking the myrtle bough : nor tear, nor sigh 
Came from her, neither did the approaching ill 
Change the fresh beauties of her vermeil cheek. 
Her chamber then she visits, and her bed : 
There her tears flow'd, and thus she spoke: "0 bedj 
To which my wedded lord, for whom I die, 
Led me a virgin bride, farewell : to thee 
No blame do I impute, for me alone 
Hast thou destroy'd : disdaining to betray 
Thee, and my lord, I die : to thee shall come 
Some other woman, not more chaste, perchance 



140 EURIPIDES. [b. c. 450. 

More happy." As she lay, she kiss'd the couch, 
And bathed it with a flood of tears ; that pass'd, 
She left her chamber, then return 'd, and oft 
She left it, oft return'd, and on the couch 
Fondly, each time she enter'd, cast herself. 
Her children, as they hung upon her robes 
Weeping, she raised, and clasp'd them to her breast 
Each after each, as now about to die. 

Before she departs, she exacts from Admetus a solemn promise never 
to form another union — 

In their mother's house 
Let them be lords : wed not again, to set 
A stepdame o'er my children, some base woman 
That wants my virtues ; she, through jealousy, 
Will work against their lives, because to thee 
I bore them : do not this, I beg thee do not ; 
For to the offspring of a former bed 
A stepdame comes sharp as a serpent's tooth. 

The chorus soon announces the mournful fact — 

She's gone ; thy wife, Admetus, is no more. 

The deep and inconsolable distress of the husband and children is 
then described by Euripides in that true pathos of which he and our 
own Shakspeare remain the unrivalled masters. But in a few days 
a stranger presents himself to the desolate mansion : it is no less than 
Hercules himself. 

Adm. Hail, son of Jove, of Perseus' noble blood. 
Her. Hail thou, Admetus, King of Thessaly. 

The hero-guest soon learns the cause why the whole mansion is filled 
with grief, and resolves within himself to explore the dark regions 
below, to face its terrors, and to bring back the deplored Alcestis. In 
a few days he reappears, leading a most beautiful female, and presents 
her to Admetus. 

Her. Wilt thou still lead a lonely, widow'd life ? 

Adm. Never shall other woman share my bed. 

Her. And think'st thou this will aught avail the dead ? 

Adm. This honor is her due, where'er she be. 

Her. This hath my praise, though near allied to frenzy. 

Adm. Praise me, or not, I ne'er will wed again. 

Her. I praise thee that thou art faithful to thy wife. 

Adm. Though dead, if I betray her, may I die ! 

Her. Well, take this noble lady to thy house. 

Adm. No, by thy father Jove let me entreat thee. 

Her. Not to do this would be the greatest wrong. 

Adm. To do it would with anguish rend my heart. 



B. C. 450.] EURIPIDES. 141 

Her. Let me prevail ; this grace may find its meed. 

Adm. that thou never hadst received this prize ! 

Her. Yet in my victory thou art victor with me. 

Adm. 'Tis nobly said : yet let this woman go. 

Her. If she must go, she shall : but must she go ? 

Adm. She must, if I incur not thy displeasure. 

Her. There is a cause that prompts my earnestness. 

Adm. Thou hast prevail'd, but much against my will. 

Her. The time will come when thou wilt thank me for it. 

Adm. Well, if I must receive her, lead her in. 

[To his attendants.'] 

Her. Charge servants with her ! No, that must not be. 

Adm. Lead her thyself, then, if thy will incline thee. 

Her. No, to thy hand alone will I commit her. 

Adm. I touch her not ; but she hath leave to enter. 

Her. I shall intrust her only to thy hand. 

Adm. Thou dost constrain me, king, against my will. 

Her. Venture to stretch thy hand, and touch the stranger's. 

Adm. I touch her, as I would the headless Gorgon. 

Her. Hast thou her hand ? 

Adm. I have. 

Her. Then hold her safe : 

Hereafter thou wilt say the son of Jove 
Hath been a generous guest. View now her face ; 

[He lifts her veil.] 
See if she bears resemblance to thy wife ; 
And thus made happy, bid farewell to grief. 

Adm. g^ds, what shall I say? 'Tis marvellous, 
Exceeding hope. See I my wife indeed, 
Or doth some god distract me with false joy? 

Her. In very deed dost thou behold thy wife. 

Adm. See that it be no phantom from beneath. 

Her. Make not thy friend one that evokes the shades. 

Adm. And do I see my wife, whom I entomb'd ? 

Her. I marvel not that thou art diffident. 

Adm. I touch her : may I speak to her as living ? 

Her. Speak to her ; thou hast all thy heart could wish. 

Adm. Dearest of women, do I see again 
That face, that person ? This exceeds all hope : 
I never thought that I should see thee more. 

Her. Thou hast her ; may no god be envious to thee ! 

Adm. 0, be thou bless'd, thou generous son of Jove ! 
Thy father's might protect thee ! Thou alone 
Hast raised her to me : from the realms below 
How hast thou brought her to the light of life ? 



142 EURIPIDES. [b. c. 450. 



FROM A CIIORUS IN THE ALCESTIS. 

We will not look on her burial sod, 

As the cell of sepulchral sleep : 
It shall be as the shrine of a radiant god, 
And the pilgrim shall visit that blest abode, 

To worship and not to weep. 
And as he turns his steps aside, 

Thus shall he breathe his vow — 
Here slept a self-devoted bride ; 
Of old, to save her lord she died, 

She is a spirit now. 



FROM A CHORUS IN THE nECUBA. 

The fatal hour was midnight's calm, 

When the feast was done, and sleep like balm 

Was shed on every eye. 
Hush'd was the chorus symphony, 

The sacrifice was o'er. 
My lord to rest his limbs had flung, 
His idle spear in its place was hung, 

He dreamed of foes no more. 
And I, while I lost my lifeless gaze, 
In the depth of the golden mirror's blaze, 

That my last light task was aiding, 
Was wreathing with fillets my tresses' maze, 

And with playful fingers braiding. 
Then came a shout ; 

Through the noiseless city the cry rang out, 
"Your homes are won, if ye scale the tower, 
Sons of the Greeks ! is it not the hour ?" 



AN ENCHANTING VALE. 

Dear is that valley to the murmuring bees ; 
And all, who know it, come and come again. 
The small birds build there ; and at summer noon, 
Oft have I heard a child, gay among flowers, 
As in the shining grass she sate concealed, 
Sing to herself * * * * 



B. C. 450.] EURIPIDES. 143 



TRUE LIBERTY. 

This is true liberty, when free-born men, 
Having to advise the public, may speak free ; 
Which he who can and will, deserves high praise : 
Who neither can, nor will, may hold his peace: 
What can be juster in a state than this ? 



FIRST LOVE. 

There is a streamlet issuing from a rock. 
The village-girls singing wild madrigals, 
Dip their white vestments in its waters clear, 
And hang them to the sun. There first I saw her. 
Her dark and eloquent eyes, mild, full of fire, 
'Twas heaven to look upon ; and her sweet voice, 
As tunable as harp of many strings, 
At once spoke joy and sadness to my soul ! 



OPENING OF THE MEDEA. 1 
THE NUKSE OF MEDEA, ALONE. 

0, that the gallant Argo had not wing'd 

Her course to Colchis through the clashing rocks 

Of the Black Euxine ; that in Pelion's groves 

1 Medea, the daughter of iEetes, King of Colchis, becoming enamored of 
Jason, is enabled, by her acquaintance with the art of magic, to extricate 
her lover from all his dangers, and facilitate his acquisition of the celebrated 
golden fleece. After this conquest, Jason marries his preserver, with whom 
he elopes, and after some time settles at Corinth. Here, unmindful of his 
obligations, he is desirous of divorcing his wife, and of contracting a mar- 
riage with Glauce, the daughter of King Creon, who, fearing the cruelty and 
power of Medea, banishes her and her two sons from the country, in order 
to secure his daughter from her revenge. The unhappy woman, driven to 
despair by this insult, pretends to submit to the sentence ; and having 
secured an asylum for herself at Athens, sends her sons with rich presents 
to the bride; and, by the interposition of Jason, succeeds in obtaining her 
good offices with the king, to permit the youths to remain at Corinth, under 
the protection of their father. The youths are now sent back to their mother, 
and Glauce hastens to array herself in the splendid robes presented by her 
rival ; but soon finds that the enchantress has infused a deadly poison, which 
proves fatal both to herself and her father. Jason, apprehensive of the fate 
which may await his sons, hastens to their rescue ; but finds, on his arrival, 
that Medea has already sacrificed them as an expiation of the infidelity of 
her husband, whose agony she derides ; and, defying his resentment, flies 
through the air with her slaughtered children, in a chariot drawn by winged 
dragons. 



144 EURIPIDES. [b. c. 450. 

The pine had ne'er been fell'd ; nor at the oars 

The heroes' hands had labor'd when they sought 

The golden fleece for Pelias : then my queen, 

Medea, had not plough'd the watery way 

To tower'd Iolcos, maddening with the love] 

Of Jason ; nor, the daughters won to slay] 

Their father Pelias, had she fixed her seat' 

At Corinth, with her husband and her sons : 

A pleasing flight, indeed, to those whose land 

She made her residence ; while every thought, 

Studious to aid him, was on Jason fix'd. 

This is the state of firmest happiness, 

When from the husband no discordant will 

The wife estranges : — but their dearest ties 

Of love are loosened ; all is variance now 

And hate : for Jason, to his children false, 

False to my mistress, for a royal bride 

Hath left her couch, and wedded Creon's daughter, 

Lord of this land. Ill doth Medea brook 

This base dishonor ; on his oath she calls, 

Recalls their plighted hands, the firmest pledge 

Of mutual faith, and calls the gods to witness 

What a requital she from Jason finds. 

Of food regardless, and in sorrow sunk 

She lies, and melts in tears each tedious hour 

Since first she knew her lord had injured her; 

Nor lifts her eye, nor lifts her face from the earth, 

Deaf to her friends' entreaties as a rock, 

Or billow of the sea ; save when she turns 

Her snowy neck, and to herself bewails 

Her father, and her country, and her house, 

Which she betray'd to follow this base man, 

Who treats her now with such indignity. 

Affliction now hath taught her what it is 

Not to forsake a parent and his house. 

She hates her children, nor with pleasure sees them. 

I fear her, lest she form some strange design ; 

For violent her temper, and of wrongs 

Impatient : well I know her, and I fear her, 

Lest, in the dead of night, when all are laid 

In deep repose, she steal into the house, 

And plunge into their breast the piercing sword ; 

Or murder ev'n the monarch of the land, 

Or the new-married Jason, on herself 

Drawing severer ills : for like a storm 

Her passions swell : and he that dares enrage her 

Will have small cause to boast his victory. 

But see, her sons from the gymnastic ring 

Returning, heedless of their mother's ills ; 

For youth holds no society with grief. 

Poller. 



B. C. 450.] HERODOTUS. 145 



HERODOTUS. 

FLOURISHED ABOUT 450 B. C. 

Scarcely anything more is known of the life of the " Father of His- 
tory," than of the " Father of Epic Poetry." He was born in Halicar- 
nassns, in Asia Minor, B. C. 484, and when about twenty-five years 
old he entered upon that course of patient and observant travel which 
was to render his name illustrious as a philosophic tourist and histo- 
rian. The shores of the Hellespont, Scythia, and the Euxine Sea; 
the Isles of the JEgaean ; Syria, Egypt, Palestine, Colchis, the northern 
parts of Africa, Ecbatana, and even Babylon were the objects of his 
unwearied research. On his return from his travels, after about 
twenty years, he settled for some time at Samos, as there were political 
disturbances in his native city. Where he composed the whole of his 
history is not known ; but after some time he went to Olympia, during 
the celebration of the Olympic games, and there, amid the vehement 
applause of the assembled Greeks,' recited the nine books of his work, 
or a portion of them, which were honored by the title of the Nine 
Muses. After this, for twelve years continuously, he prosecuted 
his historical and geographical investigations, principally in the 
Grecian provinces ; and when an Athenian colony was about to sail 
for Magna Graecia, in Italy, Herodotus went with them, and in the city 
which they founded, Thurii, 2 on the bay of Tarentum, he took up his 
final resting place, occupying himself in revising and correcting his 
great work. The exact period of his death is not known, but it took 
place about the year 406 B. C. 

Herodotus' history is divided, as was before said, into nine books, 
named after the Nine Muses. Its main subject is the history of the 
struggles of the Greeks for their liberties, and their final triumphs 
over the Persian power, and to this end everything else is subordi- 
nate. A love of Greece and her free institutions was the prevailing 
feature of his mind ; and yet he gives us, not only the history of 
Greece and the powers with which she came in conflict, but also of 
almost all of the then known world. His style is characterized by 
dignity and simplicity united, and presents a striking resemblance to 

1 It is said that the historian Thueydides, then a boy, stood by his side, 
and, touched by the noble ambition of future excellence, was affected even to 
tears by the recitations of Herodotus. 

9 Hence he is sometimes called the historian of Thurii. 

13 



146 HERODOTUS. [b. c. 450. 

the poetical drapery of Homer. From his being the first who attached 
to history the necessary aids of geography and chronology, without 
which, Strabo remarks, history is a blind guide ; as well as the first 
to show that facts may be highly interesting without the aid of fiction, 
he has been called the "Father of History;" and on account of this 
lively interest with which he invests his subject he has been called 
by Muller the "Homer of History." 1 

As to the authority of Herodotus as an historian, no one who reads 
him can for a moment doubt. Not being what is termed a philoso- 
phical historian, he has no theory to defend, or particular views to 
support. He gives no coloring to the events which he relates by any 
critical or political reflections of his own. His innate truthfulness 
displays itself on all occasions, for he constantly distinguishes what 
he relates on the authority of others, from what he has become ac- 
quainted with as an eye-witness; and all modern researches and 
investigations have tended to establish on a firmer basis his character 
for impartiality, and his authority as an historian. 2 

1 " The charm of Herodotus' writings consists in the earnestness of a man 
who describes countries as an eye-witness, and events as one accustomed to 
participate in them. The life, the raciness, the vigor of an adventurer and 
a wanderer, glow in every page. He has none of the refining disquisitions 
that are born of the closet. He paints history, rather than descants on it ; 
he throws the colorings of a mind, unconsciously poetic, over all he describes. 
Now a soldier — now. a priest — now a patriot — he is always a poet, if rarely a 
philosopher. He narrates like a witness, unlike Thucydides, who sums up 
like a judge. No writer ever made so beautiful an application of supersti- 
tions to truths. His very credulities have a philosophy of their own; and 
modern historians have acted unwisely in disdaining the occasional repetition 
even of his fables. For if his truths record the events — his fables paint the 
manners and the opinions of the time; and the last fill up the history, of 
which events are only the skeleton. 

"To account for his frequent use of dialogue, and his dramatic effects of 
narrative, we must remember the tribunal to which the work of Herodotus 
was subjected. Every author, unconsciously to himself, consults the tastes 
of those he addresses. No small coteries of scholars, no scrupulous and 
critical inquirers, made the ordeal Herodotus underwent. His chronicles 
were not dissertations to be coldly pondered over, and sceptically conned : 
they were read aloud at solemn festivals to listening thousands ; they were 
to arrest the curiosity — to amuse the impatience — to stir the wonder of a 
lively and motley crowd. Thus the historian imbibed naturally the spirit 
of the tale-teller. As he was driven to embellish his history with the 
romantic legend — the awful superstition — the gossip anecdote — which yet 
characterize the stories of the popular and oral fictionist in the bazaars of 
the Mussulman, or on the sea-sands of Sicily. Still it has been rightly said, 
that a judicious reader is not easily led astray by Herodotus in important 
particulars. His descriptions of localities, of manners and of customs, are 
singularly correct ; and modern travellers can yet trace the vestiges of his 
fidelity." — Bulwer 's Athens. 

2 "Few enlightened tourists are there, who can visit Egypt, Greece, and 
the regions of the East, without being struck by the accuracy, with the 



B. C. 450.] HERODOTUS. 141 

The following are the main subjects of his nine hooks : — 

Book I. Clio. — Transfer of the Lydian kingdom from Gyges to Croe- 
sus — minority of Cyrus — his overthrow of the Lydian power — rising 
greatness of Athens and Lacedsemon. 

Book II. Euterpe. — Dissertation on Egypt— Egyptian customs, and 
the regal succession of that empire. 

Book III. Thalia. — Achievements of Cambyses — his total subjuga- 
tion of Egypt — election of Darius Hystaspes to the Persian throne, then 
vacant by the assassination of Smerdis, the impostor. 

Book IV. Melpomene. — Full narrative of the calamitous expedi- 
tions of the Persians against the Scythians in the reign of Darius 
Hystaspes. 

Book V. Terpsichore. — The political progress of Lacedsemon, 
Athens, and Corinth — view of their relative resources during the time 
of Darius — expulsion of Hippias from Athens. 

Book VI. Erato. — Origin of the kings of Lacedsemon — causes of 
Darius's hostility to Greece — first Persian invasion of Hellas — battle 
of Marathon. 

Book VII. Polyhymnia. — Preparations and grand expedition of 
Xerxes into Greece — battle at Thermopylae. 

Book VIII. Urania. — Further progress of the Persian arms — Athens 
captured and burned — defeat of the Persians at the sea-fight of 
Salamis. 

Book IX. Calliope. — Defeat of the Persians at Platsea — defeat at 
the promontory of Mycale, and their complete retreat within their own 
territories. 1 

industry, with the patience of Herodotus. To record all the facts substan- 
tiated by travellers, illustrated by artists, and amplified by learned research, 
would be almost impossible ; so abundant, so rich, has this golden mine been 
found, that the more its native treasures are explored, the more valuable do 
they appear. The oasis of Siwah, visited by Browne, Hornemann, Edmon- 
stone, and Minutuoli; the engravings of the latter, demonstrating the co- 
identity of the god Ammon and the god of Thebes ; the Egyptian mode of 
weaving, confirmed by the drawings of Wilkinson and Minutuoli ; the foun- 
tain of the sun, visited by Belzoni ; one of the stelse or pillars of Sesostris, 
seen by Herodotus in Syria, and recognized on the road to Beyrout with the 
hieroglyphic of Rhamses still legible ; the kneading of dough, drawn from a 
sculpture in Thebes, by Wilkinson ; the dress of the lower classes, by the 
same author ; the prodigies of Egyptian architecture at Edfou ; Caillaud's 
discovery of Mero'e in the depths of ^Ethiopia; these, and a host of brilliant 
evidences, centre their once divergent rays in one flood of light upon the 
temple of genius reared by Herodotus, and display the goddess of Truth 
enshrined within." — PococMs View of Herodotus. 

1 The best editions of Herodotus are those of Schweighauser, with Latin 
version and notes, reprinted at Glasgow, in six volumes 8vo., 1818 j Gais- 
ford's, four volumes, Oxford, 1824; J. W. Blakesley, with a commentary, 
two volumes, London, 1854; Matthiae, two volumes, Leipsic, 1825; Balhrs, 



148 HERODOTUS. [b. c. 450. 



THE CROCODILE. 

The following are the peculiarities of the crocodile : During 
the four winter months they eat nothing ; they are four-footed, 
and live indifferently on land or in the water. The female lays 
and hatches her eggs ashore, passing the greater portion of the 
day on dry land, but at night retiring to the river, the water 
of which is warmer than the night-air and the dew. Of all 
known animals this is the one which from the smallest size 
grows to be the greatest : for the egg of the crocodile is but 
little bigger than that of the goose, and the young crocodile is 
in proportion to the egg ; yet when it is full grown, the animal 
measures frequently seventeen cubits and even more. It has 
the eyes of a pig, teeth large and tusk-like, of a size propor- 
tioned to its frame ; unlike any other animal, it is without a 
tongue ; it cannot move its under-jaw, and in this respect too 
it is singular, being the only animal in the world which moves 
the upper-jaw but not the under. It has strong claws and a 
scaly skin, impenetrable upon the back. In the water it is 
blind, but on land it is very keen of sight. As it lives chiefly 
in the river, it has the inside of its mouth constantly covered 
with leeches ; hence it happens that, while all the other birds 

Leipsic, 1830, four volumes ; and Bekker's, Berlin, 1833—1837. The trans- 
lation most in rogue the last century and the earlier part of this, was that 
hy Rev. William Beloe ; since that, the following approved versions have ap- 
peared : " Herodotus literally translated into English Prose, with Notes from 
Kennel, Lareher. &c," Oxford, 1824, two volumes; "Herodotus literally 
translated hy Peter Edmund Laurent, with Notes, Illustrative and Critical, a 
Geographical Index, an Introductory Essay, and a Summary of the History," 
Oxford, two volumes, and "A new English Version from the Text of Gaisford, 
with copious Notes, hy the Rev. G-. Rawlinson." This last leaves nothing 
more to be desired. The title in full will give an idea of what the work is. " The 
History of Herodotus : a new English version, edited with copious notes and 
appendices, illustrating the History and Geography of Herodotus, from the 
most recent sources of information ; and embodying the chief results, his- 
torical and ethnographical, which have been obtained in the progress of cu- 
neiform and hieroglyphical discovery, by George Rawlinson, M. A., late Fel- 
low and Tutor of Exeter College, Oxford, assisted by Col. Sir Henry Raw- 
linson and Sir J. G. Wilkinson, F. R. S., in four volumes, with Maps and 
Illustrations;" London, 1858. As aids in the study of Herodotus, the stu- 
dent may consult, " Notes, historical and critical, translated from the French 
of Lareher," London, two volumes. " Wm. Dawson Turner's Notes to Hero- 
dotus, for the use of College Students," London, 1848. Carey's Lexicon to 
Herodotus, Greek and English, Oxford, 1843. Porti Dictionarium Ionicum, 
Grseco-Latinum, Oxon., 1810. Wheeler's Analysis and Summary of Hero- 
dotus, London, 1848. Maps and Plans illustrative of Herodotus, Oxford, 
1825, and London, 1843. Niebuhr on the Geography of Herodotus. 



B. C. 450.] HERODOTUS. 149 

and beasts avoid it, with the trochilus it lives at peace, 
since it owes much to that bird : for the crocodile, when he 
leaves the water and comes out upon the land, is in the habit 
of lying with his mouth wide open, facing the western breeze : 
at such times the trochilus goes into his mouth and devours 
the leeches. This benefits the crocodile, who is pleased, and 
takes care not to hurt the trochilus. 

The crocodile is esteemed sacred by some of the Egyptians, 
by others he is treated as an enemy. Those who live near 
Thebes, and those who dwell around Lake Mceris, regard them 
with especial veneration. In each of these places they keep 
one crocodile in particular, who is taught to be tame and tract- 
able. They adorn his ears with ear-rings of molten stone or 
gold, and put bracelets on his fore-paws, giving him daily a 
set portion of bread, with a certain number of victims ; and, 
after having thus treated him with the greatest possible atten- 
tion while alive, they embalm him when he dies and bury him 
in a sacred repository. The people of Elephantine, on the 
other hand, are so for from considering these animals as sacred 
that they even eat their flesh. 

The modes of catching the crocodile are many and various. 
I shall only describe the one which seems to me most worthy 
of mention. They bait a hook with a chine of pork and let the 
meat be carried out into the middle of the stream, while the 
hunter upon the bank holds a living pig, which he belabors. 
The crocodile hears its cries and, making for the sound, en- 
counters the pork, which he instantly swallows down. The 
men on the shore haul, and when they have got him to land, 
the first thing the hunter does is to plaster his eyes with mud. 
This once accomplished, the animal is dispatched with ease, 
otherwise he gives great trouble. — Rawlinson. 



EARLY CIRCUMNAVIGATION OF AFRICA. 

I am much surprised at those who have divided and defined 
the limits of Libya, Asia, and Europe, betwixt which the dif- 
ference is far from small. Europe, for instance, in length much 
exceeds the other two, but is of far inferior breadth : except in 
that particular part which is contiguous to Asia, the whole of 
Libya is surrounded by the sea. The first person who has 
proved this, was, as far as we are able to judge, Necho, King of 
Egypt. When he had desisted from his attempt to join by a 
canal the Nile with the Arabian Gulf, he dispatched some ves- 

13* 



150 HERODOTUS. [b. C. 450. 

sels, under the conduct of Phoenicians, with directions to pass 
by the Columns of Hercules, and after penetrating the Northern 
Ocean to return to Egypt. These Phoenicians, taking their 
course from the Red Sea, entered into the Southern Ocean 
on the approach of autumn they landed in Libya, and planted 
some corn in the place where they happened to find themselves; 
when this was ripe, and they had cut it down, they again de- 
parted. Having thus consumed two years, they in the third 
doubled the Columns of Hercules, and returned to Egypt. 
Their relation may obtain attention from others, but to me it 
seems incredible j 1 for they affirmed that, having sailed round 
Libya, they had the sun on their right hand. — Thus was Libya 
for the first time known. — Beloe. 



AETABANUS DISSUADES XERXES FROM HIS PROPOSED EXPEDITION 
AGAINST GREECE. 

The other Persians were silent, for all feared to raise their 
voice against the plan proposed to them. But Artabanus, the 
son of Hystaspes, and uncle of Xerxes, trusting to his relation- 
ship, was bold to speak : a O king," he said, "it is impossible, 
if no more than one opinion is uttered, to make choice of the 
best : a man is forced then to follow whatever advice may have 
been given him ; but if opposite speeches are delivered, then 
choice can be exercised. In like manner pure gold is not re- 
cognized by itself; but when we test it along with baser ore, 
we perceive which is the better. I counselled thy father, 
Darius, who was my own brother, not to attack the Scyths, a 
race of people who had no town in their whole land. He 
thought, however, to subdue those wandering tribes, and would 
not listen to me, but marched an army against them, and ere 
he returned home lost many of his bravest warriors. Thou art 
about, king, to attack a people far superior to the Scyths, a 
people distinguished above others both by land and sea. 'Tis 
fit, therefore, that I should tell thee what danger thou incurrest 
hereby. Thou sayest that thou wilt bridge the Hellespont, 

1 Herodotus does not doubt that the Phoenicians made the circuit of Africa, 
and returned to Egypt by the Straits of Gibraltar ; but he could not believe 
that in the course of the voyage they had the sun on their right hand. This 
however must necessarily have been the case after the Phoenicians had passed 
the Line ; and this curious circumstance, which never could have been ima- 
gined in an age when astronomy was yet in its infancy, is an evidence to the 
truth of a voyage, which without this might have been doubted. 



B. C. 450.] HERODOTUS. 151 

and lead thy troops through Europe against Greece. Now 
suppose some disaster befall thee by land or sea, or by both. 
It may be even so, for the men are reputed valiant. Indeed 
one may measure their prowess from what they have already 
done ; for when Datis and Artaphernes led their huge army 
against Attica, the Athenians singly defeated them. But grant 
they are not successful on both elements. Still, if they man 
their ships, and, defeating us by sea, sail to the Hellespont, and 
there destroy our bridge — that, sire, were a fearful hazard. 
And here 'tis not by my own mother wit alone that I conjec- 
ture what will happen, but I remember how narrowly we escaped 
disaster once, when thy father, after throwing bridges over the 
Thracian Bosphorus and the Ister, marched against the Scy- 
thians, and they tried every sort of prayer to induce the Ionians, 
who had charge of the bridge over the Ister, to break the pass- 
age. On that day, if Histiaeus, the King of Miletus, had sided 
with the other princes, and not set himself to oppose their 
views, the empire of the Persians would have come to naught. 
Surely a dreadful thing is this even to hear said, that the king's 
fortunes depended wholly on one man. 

"Think then no more of incurring so great a danger when 
no need presses, but follow the advice I tender. Break up this 
meeting, and when thou hast well considered the matter with 
thyself, and settled what thou wilt do, declare to us thy resolve. 
I know not of aught in the world that so profits a man as 
taking good counsel with himself; for even if things fall out 
against one's hopes, still one has counselled well, though for- 
tune has made the counsel of none effect : whereas if a man 
counsels ill and luck follows, he has gotten a windfall, but his 
counsel is none the less silly. Seest thou how God with his 
lightning smites alway the bigger animals, and will not suffer 
them to wax insolent, while those of a lesser bulk chafe him 
not? How likewise his bolts fall ever on the highest houses 
and the tallest trees? So plainly does He love to bring down 
everything that exalts itself. Thus ofttimes a mighty host is 
discomfited by a few men, when God in his jealousy sends fear 
or storm from heaven, and they perish in a way unworthy of 
them. For God allows no one to have high thoughts but 
Himself. 1 Again, hurry always brings about disasters, from 
which huge sufferings are wont to arise ; but in delay lie many 
advantages, not apparent (it may be) at first sight, but such as 

1 Mr. Grote has some sound remarks on the religious temper of Herodotus 
in reference to the present passage. — History of Greece, vol. v. p. 8. 



152 HERODOTUS. [b. c. 450. 

in course of time are seen of all. Such, then, is my counsel to 
thee, king. 

"And thou, Mardonius, son of Gobryas, forbear to speak 
foolishly concerning the Greeks, who are men that ought not 
to be lightly esteemed by us. For while thou revilest the 
Greeks, thou dost encourage the king to lead his own troops 
against them ; and this, as it seems to me, is what thou art 
specially striving to accomplish. Heaven send thou succeed 
not to thy wish ! For slander is of all evils the most terrible. 
In it two men do wrong, and one man has wrong done to him. 
The slanderer does wrong, forasmuch as he abuses a man 
behind his back ; and the hearer, forasmuch as he believes 
what he has not searched into thoroughly. The man slandered 
in his absence suffers wrong at the hands of both ; for one 
brings against him a false charge, and the other thinks him an 
evil-doer. If, however, it must needs be that we go to war 
with this people, at least allow the king to abide at home in 
Persia. Then let thee and me both stake our children on the 
issue, and do thou choose out thy men, and taking with thee 
whatever number of troops thou likest, lead forth our armies 
to battle. If things go well for the king, as thou sayest they 
will, let me and my children be put to death ; but if they fall 
out as I prophesy, let thy children suffer, and thou too, if thou 
shalt come back alive. But shouldst thou refuse this wager, 
and still resolve to march an army against Greece, sure I am 
that some of those whom thou leavest behind thee here will 
one day receive the sad tidings that Mardonius has brought a 
great disaster upon the Persian people, and lies a prey to dogs 
and birds somewhere in the land of the Athenians, or else in 
that of the Lacedaemonians ; unless, indeed, thou shalt have 
perished sooner by the way, experiencing in thy own person 
the might of those men on whom thou wouldst fain induce 
the king to make war." — Rawlinson. 



XERXES REVIEWS HIS FORCES AT ABYDOS. 

Arrived here, Xerxes wished to look upon all his host ; so, 
as there was a throne of white marble upon a hill near the city, 
which they of Abydos had prepared beforehand, by the king's 
bidding, for his especial use, Xerxes took his seat on it, and, 
gazing thence upon the shore below, beheld at one view all his 
land forces and all his ships. While thus employed, he felt a 
desire to behold a sailing-match among his ships, which accord- 



B. C. 471-391.] THUCYDIDES. 153 

ingly took place, and was won by the Phoenicians of Sidon, 
much to the joy of Xerxes, who was delighted alike with the 
race and with his army. 

And now, as he looked and saw the whole Hellespont co- 
vered with the vessels of his fleet, and all the shore and every 
plain about Abydos as full as could be of men, Xerxes con- 
gratulated himself on his good fortune ; but after a little while, 
he wept. 

Then Artabanus, the king's uncle (the same who at the first 
so freely spake his mind to the king, and advised him not to 
lead his army against Greece), when he heard that Xerxes was 
in tears, went to him, and said — 

"How different, sire, is what thou art now doing, from what 
thou didst a little while ago! Then thou didst congratulate 
thyself, and now, behold! thou weepest." 

"There came upon me," replied he, "a sudden pity, when I 
thought of the shortness of man's life, and considered that of 
all this host, so numerous as it is, not one will be alive when a 
hundred years are gone by." 

"And yet there are sadder things in life than that," returned 
the other. " Short as our time is, there is no man, whether 
it be here among this multitude or elsewhere, who is so 
happy, as not to have felt the wish — I will not say once, but 
full many a time — that he were dead rather than alive. Cala- 
mities fall upon us, sicknesses vex and harass us, and make life, 
short though it be, to appear long. So death, through the 
wretchedness of our life, is a most sweet refuge to our race : 
and God, who gives us the tastes that we enjoy of pleasant 
times, is seen, in his very gift, to be envious." 



THUCYDIDES, 471—391. 

This first of philosophic historians was born at Athens, about 471 
B. C. His father took every pains with his early education, and in his 
fifteenth year took him to the Olympic games, where he heard Hero- 
dotus read his history to the admiring multitude collected from every 
part of Greece, and, as remarked in the life of the " Father of History," 
burst into tears of admiration and joy. Of the manner in which he 
spent his early childhood, we know little or nothing ; but in his forty- 



154 thucydides. [b. c. 4*71-391. 

seventh year he was appointed to the command of the Athenian fleet 
at the Island of Thasos, on the coast of Thrace, and while there was 
summoned to the relief of Amphipolis against the Spartan general, 
Brasidas. This was in the year 424 B. C, the eighth year of the Pelo- 
ponnesian war. Unfortunately, owing to circumstances which it was 
impossible for him to control, he arrived too late ; since Amphipolis 
had surrendered on the very day on the evening of which he arrived 
at the mouth of the Strymon. But because he could not do what was 
utterly impossible (having received the summons too late), the incon- 
sistent and unreasonable Athenians, incited by the demagogue Cleon, 
passed sentence of banishment against him. He went, therefore, into 
exile, and retired to Scaptesyle in Thrace, where he had some property 
in gold mines, and there devoted all his time and energies to the com- 
position of his great work, employing much of his income in procuring 
accurate information of transpiring events : — money, indeed, most 
wisely expended — a perishable material the partial means of pro- 
ducing an imperishable work. 

How thankful the world has ever been that Thucydides was ban- 
ished; 1 and how much do we owe to this little, retired place, Scapte- 
syle. Had Thucydides gone to any of the large Asiatic cities on the 
shores of the iEgaean or the Mediterranean, his time might have been 
engrossed by its pleasures and its gayeties : but here, in this secluded 
spot, he enjoyed the most favorable opportunities for philosophic medi- 
tation ; and through the loopholes of his retreat he looked out upon 
the busy and conflicting world, and painted its varied scenes in colors 
so rich and true to nature, that his great work has ever been considered 
as a model of correct and elegant historic composition. 2 

The sentence of Thucydides' banishment continued in force twenty 
years; but whether he availed himself of the liberty to return to 
Athens we have no means of deciding. He died in the year 391 before 

1 What would the world have lost had not John Bunyan been imprisoned 
twelve long years in Bedford jail? To how many has his great epic been the 
gate to the Celestial Paradise ? 

2 I may here remark upon the influence the history of Thucydides has 
exerted over other minds. Sallust and Tacitus both took it as a model by 
which to form their own style. Demosthenes was such an ardent admirer 
of the speeches in Thucydides, that he is said to have copied them over ten 
times with his own hand that he might acquire their style. Lord Chatham 
was a constant reader of Thucydides, as we might infer from his nervous and 
compressed eloquence. Lucretius is indebted to Thucydides' description of 
the Plague at Athens, for one of the most graphic parts of his celebrated 
poem ; and Boccacio, in his Decameron, has given us in one of his stories 
almost a literal translation of the same. Let us then ever be grateful to the 
Athenians — though they intended no good — for the banishment of Thucy- 
dides. 






, 



B. C. 471-391.] THUCYDIDES. 155 

Christ, at the age of eighty, and was probably interred at Scaptesyle, 
so long the scene of his literary toils, and where a monument was 
erected to his memory. 

The history of Thucydides was designed to comprise a complete 
account of the Peloponnesian war — a war of twenty-seven years' dura- 
tion ; but it is only continued as far as the middle of the twenty-first 
year, B. C. 411. Its arrangement is chronological — the successive 
events being assigned to the summer or winter half-year in which 
they occurred. It is divided into eight books, and is characterized by 
an impartial love of truth, and a style concise, vigorous, and energetic ; 
yet sometimes harsh and obscure from its very closeness and fulness 
of thought. Even Cicero found him difficult, and remarks that the 
speeches in his history contain so many obscure and impenetrable 
sentences as to be scarcely intelligible. 

" In comparing together the two great historians, it is plain that the 
mind and talents of both were admirably suited to the work which 
they took in hand. The extensive field in which Herodotus labored, 
the abundance and variety of materials with which his habits of in- 
vestigation furnished him, afforded an opportunity for embellishing 
and illustrating his history with the marvels of foreign lands ; he 
collected such accounts as would please and delight the reader, and 
invested them with the peculiar charm of his simple and attractive 
style. 

" The glorious exploits of a great and free people stemming a tide 
of barbarian invaders, who appeared by their very numbers likely to 
overwhelm them, and finally triumphing completely over them ; the 
features of the earth which we inhabit, hitherto unknown, or misre- 
presented by fable, and enveloped in mystery ; the customs and his- 
tories of the barbarians with whom they had been at war, and of all 
other nations whose names were connected with Persia, either by line- 
age or conquest, were subjects which required the talents of a simple 
narrator, who had such love of truth as not wilfully to exaggerate, 
and such judgment as to select what was best worthy of attention. 

" Thucydides had a narrower field. The mind of Greece was the 
subject of his study, as displayed in a single war, which was in its 
rise, progress, and consequences the most important which Greece had 
ever seen. It did not in itself possess that heart-stirring interest 
which characterizes the Persian war. In it united Greece was not 
struggling for her liberties against a foreign foe, animated by one 
common patriotism, inspired by an enthusiastic love of liberty ; but it 
presented the sad spectacle of Greece divided against herself, torn by 
the jealousies of race, and distracted by the animosities of faction. 



156 thucydides. [b. c. 471-391. 

The task of Thucydides was that of studying the warring passions 
and antagonistic workings of one mind. It was one, therefore, which, 
in order to heconie interesting and profitable, demanded that there 
should be brought to bear upon it the powers of a keen analytical 
intellect. To separate history from the traditions and falsehoods with 
which it had been overlaid, and to give the early history of Greece in 
its most truthful form ; to trace Athenian supremacy from its rise 
to its ruin, the growing jealousy of other states, whether inferiors or 
rivals, to which that supremacy gave rise ; to show its connection with 
the enmities of race, and the oppositions of politics ; to point out what 
causes led to such wide results ; how the insatiable ambition of Athens, 
gratifying itself in direct disobedience to the advice of their wise states- 
man, Pericles, led step by step to their ultimate ruin, required not a 
mere narrator of events, however brilliant, but a moral philosopher 
and a statesman. Such was Thucydides. Although his work shows 
an advance in the science of historical composition over that of Hero- 
dotus, and his mind is of a higher, because of a more thoughtful order, 
yet his fame by no means obscures the glory which belongs to the 
father of history. Their walks are different ; they can never be con- 
sidered as rivals, and therefore neither can claim superiority. 

" Herodotus is almost as objective as Homer ; there is little or nothing 
of self in his writings ; all his thoughts are absorbed in telling his 
story. His narrative embodies the spirit of the times in which he 
lived. Thucydides is subjective ; he values facts as illustrations of 
the principles which are deeply rooted in his own mind ; he gives a 
complete delineation of his own sentiments ; he is fitted to lead and 
direct public opinion, and his judgment on passing events and human 
conduct is far in advance of his age, and far more comprehensive and 
philosophical than that of his contemporaries." 1 

The best editions of Thucydides are those of Bekker, Berlin, 1821, 
three volumes 8vo. ; Poppo, Leipsic, ten volumes 8vo., 1821-1838 ; 
and of Dr. Arnold, three volumes, Oxford, 1830-1835. William Smith's 
English translation, London, 1753, has been most used : it is generally 
exact, but is inferior to that of S. T. Bloomfield, three volumes 8vo., 
London, which is full of valuable illustrative and historical notes. The 
Lexicon Thucydidteum, 8vo., London, 1824 ; and "Maps and Plans illus- 
trative of Thucydides," Oxford, will be found of great service in read- 
ing this historian intelligently. 

1 Browne's Greek Literature. 



B. C. 47 1-391.] THUCY.DIDES. 157 



THE NATURAL CONSEQUENCES OP WAR. 

Many and calamitous are the events which befall states through 
tear! — things which have been, and ever will be, while human 
nature continues what it is, but extreme or milder, and varied 
in their forms, as the changes of events fall out : for in seasons 
of peace and prosperity, both states and private persons are 
better disposed, by reason of their having not fallen into those 
necessities which hurry men into what they otherwise would 
not do. But war, by withdrawing the means for the supply 
of men's daily wants, is an imperious dictator, and assimilates 
their dispositions to their present situation and circumstances. 
Thus, then, the Grecian states were agitated with factions, 
wherein those who had been behindhand in hearing of what 
had been before done, introduced a decided superiority, by 
contriving new devices, both in respect of artful stratagems of 
attack and in novel atrocity of punishments. Nay, the accus- 
tomed acceptation of names in respect of things, they inter- 
changed at their own pleasure. Thus a rash headlong daring 
was accounted a faithfully devoted courage ; a provident delay, 
specious cowardice ; prudence, a cloak for pusillanimity ; and 
the use of wisdom in anything, was being sluggish in every- 
thing. An uncontrollably passionate spirit was thought to 
form the part of manliness ; and caution in projecting was 
accounted a specious excuse for declining a project. The 
furiously violent was ever esteemed trusty, while he that with- 
stood him was suspected. He who plotted any knavery was, 
if successful, thought clever, and he that suspected and antici- 
pated him was thought yet more knowing; but he who used 
prudent forethought, so as to need neither the one nor the 
other, was esteemed a dissolver of good fellowship, and a craven 
before his foes. In a word, he that would be beforehand with 
another, who was about to do him wrong, was commended, as 
was also he who set another on doing so, that thought not of 
it ; and, indeed, relationship was esteemed not so close a tie 
as factious association, because it was more disposed to un- 
hesitatingly dare : for such sort of combinations were not made 
for men's good, according to the existing laws, but for unjust 
gain, contrary to them ; and pledges of faith towards each 
other were confirmed, Hot so much by sacred pledges, as by 
community of crime. Any equitable overtures from an enemy 
they admitted, if they were superior in power, but so as to keep 
14 



158 thucydides. [b. c. 471-391. 

a guard over their actions, and not with generous confidence. 
To retaliate on another was held preferable to one's self not first 
suffering ; and oaths, if they were for reconciliation, beiug in- 
terposed for the present on some difficulty, continued in force 
so long only as the parties had no power from any other quar- 
ter. But when occasion served, he who first dared an attack, 
if he saw his enemy off his guard, thought his revenge the 
sweeter, as taken on oue lulled in security, than if he had gained 
it in the open way; partly because he thought it the safe course, 
and because by overreaching his foe he also gained the glory 
of dexterity. Thus it is that the greater part of men are more 
willing to be called clever rogues than honest fools ; of the latter 
they are ashamed, in the former they exult. 



THE LOYE OF COUNTRY. 1 

"Such, then, Athenians, were these persons, and thus 
worthily have they approved themselves to their country. As 
for you who survive them, a safer career you may pray for, but 
a less courageous spirit in encountering your foes you need not 
desire. Yours it will be to keep in view the beneficial tendency 
of such a spirit ; not so far only as words extend (for any one 
might enlarge thereon, telling you, what you would know as 
well as he, the benefits which are contained in resisting our 
foes), but rather approving it in deeds, by keeping in your 
daily contemplation the increase of its power, and becoming 
attached to, and, as it were, enamored of it. When, too, its 
greatness strikes you, consider that it has been acquired by 
adventurous men, who both knew what ought to be done, and, 
in action, were keenly alive to shame ; who, when even failing 
in their attempts, were yet unwilling that their country should 
thereby lose the advantage of their valor, but contributed to it 
the noblest offering — for they bestowed their persons and their 
lives upon the public ; and therefore, as their private recom- 
pense, they receive a deathless renown and the noblest of sepul- 
chres — not so much that wherein their bones are entombed, as 
in which their glory is preserved, to be had in everlasting 
remembrance on all occasions, whether of speech or action. 
For to the illustrious, the whole earth is a sepulchre ; nor do 
monumental inscriptions in their own country alone point it 
* 

1 This is from the speech of Pericles, delivered at the funeral solemnities 
of those who fell first in the Peloponnesian war. 



B. C. 4 1 1-391.] THUCYDIDES. 159 

out, but an unwritten and mental memorial even in foreign 
lands, which, more durable than any monument, is deeply seated 
in the breast of every one. Imitating, then, these illustrious 
models — accounting that happiness is liberty, and that liberty is 
valor — be not backward to encounter the perils of war ; for 
the unfortunate and hopeless are not those who have most 
reason to be lavish of their lives, but rather such as, while they 
live, have to hazard a change to the opposite, and who have 
most at stake ; since great would be the reverse should they 
fall into adversity. For to the high-minded, at least, more 
grievous is misfortune overwhelming them amidst the blandish- 
ments of prosperity, than the stroke of death overtaking them 
in the full pulse of vigor and common hope, and, moreover, 
almost unfelt. 

"Wherefore, I will not so much condole with the parents of 
the departed, as offer them comfort. Well they know that they 
were born and trained to diversified calamities, and scarcely 
need be told that fortunate are those who, like our lamented 
heroes, are fated to the noblest death (or, like them, to the 
noblest sorrow), and to whom life has been measured out both 
to be fortunate in, and to die in! Yet difficult, I know, it is 
to impart to you motives of comfort respecting those of whom 
you will often have memorials in that good fortune of others in 
which you also yourselves once rejoiced. For sorrow rises not 
so much for the loss of a good of which we are bereft untried, 
as for what may be snatched from us after experiencing its 
value. 

" To you (let me add), the sons and brothers of the deceased, 
I foresee a wide field laid open for contest and emulation ; 
since to departed merit no one refuses the tribute of admiration ; 
but you, even with deserts surpassing theirs, will with difficulty 
be thought, not equal, but somewhat inferior to them. For 
the envy of competition ceases only with the death of its object; 
whereas the merit which obstructs no one is honored with a 
zeal unmixed with jealous rivalry. If, too, with reference to 
the widowed among you, I may be expected to advert to the 
subject of female virtue, I would express the whole in one brief 
admonition — It will be your greatest glory not to be found 
deficient in the virtue of your sex, and to let your behavior be 
as little as possible the theme of conversation among the other 
sex, whether for good or for evil. 

"And now I have, conformably to legal prescription, spoken 
what I judged most suitable to the occasion ; and by deeds also 
have the interred been thus honored. For the rest, their child- 



160 THUCYDIDES. [B. C. 471-391. 

ren will henceforward be maintained, and educated to man- 
hood by the state; thereby holding out a reward for eminent 
valor, neither unprofitable, nor without its effect, both on them 
and their posterity ; for where the rewards of virtue are the 
most liberal, there will ever be found the best citizens. And 
now let each of you, having thus indulged his. sorrow for his 
relatives, depart." 



THE PLAGUE AT ATHENS. 

The contagion is said to have had its origin in that part of 
^Ethiopia which is situated beyond Egypt, and from thence to 
have passed into Egypt and Libya. After spreading over a 
considerable part of the King of Persia's dominions, it at length 
broke out suddenly at Athens, and made its first attack in the 
Piraeus, where it was reported that the Peloponnesians had 
thrown poison into the wells; for as yet there were no fountains 
there. Afterwards it extended itself to the upper city, and 
then the mortality rapidly increased. And now I leave every 
one (whether physician or other) to pass his own opinion con- 
cerning it, pointing out from whence it was likely to arise, and 
what causes he thinks sufficient to produce so entire a change 
of the constitution of the human body. For my own part, I 
shall merely relate the manner of it; and, having been myself 
sick of it, and seen others afflicted, I shall point out those 
symptoms of the malady, from a consideration of which any 
one may have some previous knowledge of it, and not be alto- 
gether ignorant of its nature, should it ever again make its 
appearance. 

The season of the year I speak of is admitted to have been 
singularly healthy, as far as regarded other disorders ; nay, if 
any one previously labored under any malady, it merged and 
terminated in this. Others, without any apparent cause, on a 
sudden, and when in perfect health, were attacked first with 
violent heats about the head, accompanied with redness and 
inflammation of the eyes. Then the internal parts, both the 
gullet and the tongue, immediately assumed a sanguineous hue, 
and emitted a noisome and fetid odor. Sneezing and hoarse- 
ness then supervened, and not long after the malady descended 
to the breast, bringing with it a violent cough ; and when 
once it had fixed itself on the stomach, it excited vomiting, 
inducing what physicians call discharges of bile, and those 
attended with excessive torment. This was, in most cases, 



B. C. 471-391.] THUCYDIDES. 1G1 

succeeded by a dry, empty hiccough, accompanied with strong 
colicky convulsions and spasms; in some cases immediately 
ceasing, in others of longer duration. The body did not ex- 
ternally feel very hot to the touch, nor was the skin pallid, but 
reddish, livid, and bespeckled with minute pimples and running 
sores. But so burnt up were the internal parts, that the pa- 
tients could not bear the lightest clothing or the finest sheets 
to be thrown over them, nor endure to be otherwise than stark 
naked ; nay, they would most gladly have plunged into cold 
water. Indeed, many of those who were not attended to, did 
so ; precipitating themselves into wells, urged by thirst insati- 
able ; and whether they drank much or little it was the same. 
A restlessness and wakefulness likewise perpetually oppressed 
them; and so long as the disorder was at its height, the body 
did not fall away, but resisted the malady beyond all expecta- 
tion ; so that either they died (most of them on the ninth or the 
seventh day of the inward fever) while yet in possession of 
some strength, or, if they escaped [that crisis], then the disor- 
der, descending into the bowels, affected them with violent 
ulceration and excessive diarrhoea, by which they afterwards 
were carried off through mere weakness. For the malady com- 
mencing at the head, where it first took its post, and from 
thence descending, pervaded the whole body. And if any sur- 
vived those greatest dangers, yet the disorder seized on the 
extremities, and there left its mark; making its attacks, for 
instance, on the fingers, or the toes; and many with the depri- 
vation of these, and some even with that of their eyes, escaped 
with their lives. Nor were there wanting those who, on reco- 
vering, labored under an utter forgetfulness of everything, and 
knew neither their friends, nor indeed themselves. 

For as this was a kind of disorder which baffled all descrip- 
tion, nay, even exceeded human nature, in the virulence which 
it exercised on the sufferers, so in the following respect it plainly 
evinced itself to be something wholly different from any of the 
ordinary distempers. For though there were many unburied 
corpses, those birds and beasts which prey on human flesh 
either approached them not, or, if they tasted, perished. A 
proof of which was seen in the total disappearance of all birds 
of prey, which were found neither about the carcasses nor else- 
where. But the dogs, from their domestic habits and familiar 
intercourse with men, afforded a more manifest evidence of the 
thing. 

Such, then (to omit many other cases of peculiar virulence, 
each having some symptoms differing from those of others), 

U* 



162 thucydides. [b. c. 4*71—391. 

was the general nature of the disorder. And none of the usual 
or endemic maladies made their attacks during its continuance; 
or, if they did, soon terminated in this. The sufferers, more- 
over, died, some under neglect, others with all the care and 
attention possible; nor could any one remedy be devised, whose 
application would be certain to do good ; for what benefited 
one, was prejudicial to another. Moreover, no constitution, 
whether in respect of strength or weakness, was found able to 
cope with it ; nay, it swept away all alike, even those attended 
to with the most careful management. But the most dreadful 
part of the calamity was the total dejection of mind which over- 
whelmed those who felt themselves attacked (for, falling at once 
into despair, they the more readily gave themselves up, and 
sunk without a struggle), and that they dropped, filled, like 
diseased sheep, with infection communicated by their attend- 
ance on each other. That circumstance, too, occasioned most 
of the mortality ; for if men forbore, through fear, to visit the 
sick, they died, forlorn and destitute for want of attendance, 
and thus whole families became utterly extinct; and if they 
ventured to approach, they met their death ; and this was espe- 
cially the fate of those who aimed at anything like virtue ; 
since they, ashamed of selfish caution, were unsparing of their 
own lives in attending on their friends; for at last even their 
servants, overcome by the excess of the calamity, were wearied 
out with the groaning and lamentation of the sick and dying. 
Those, however, who had survived the disorder, were the more 
compassionate to the dying and the afflicted ; both as knowing 
by experience what the disorder was, and being now themselves 
in safety. For it never attacked the same person twice ; so, at 
least, as to be mortal. And such persons were felicitated on 
their escape by others ; and they themselves, amidst their pre- 
sent joy, nourished a sort of light hope for the future — that 
they should never hereafter be destroyed by any disease. 

Besides the present calamity, the reception of the country 
people into the city had occasioned much annoyance, and espe- 
cially to the new comers. For as they had no houses, but were 
compelled to lodge, during the height of summer, in stifling 
huts, a horribly confused mortality occurred, insomuch that 
corpses lay stretched out one upon another, as they had died ; 
and half-dead corpses were seen tumbling over each other, both 
in the streets and about every fountain, whither their rage for 
water had hurried them. The very temples, too, in which they 
had hutted, were full of the corpses of those who had expired 
there. For as the violence of the calamity exceeded all bounds, 



13. C. 4 1 1-3 91.] THUCYDIDES. 163 

and men knew not what to have recourse to, they fell into a 
neglect alike of sacred and social duties. All laws, too, and 
customs which had been in force respecting sepulture, were 
confounded and violated ; men burying just where and how 
they could ; and many for want of funeral necessaries (so many 
deaths having before occurred in their families), had recourse 
to very indecorous means for the interment of their friends. 
For some, resorting to funeral piles which were raising for 
others, would, before they were completed, lay their own 
corpses thereon, and set them on fire. Others, when a corpse 
was burning, would toss upon the pyre another, which they 
had brought with them, and go their way. 

This pestilence, too, in other respects, gave rise to that un- 
bridled licentiousness which then first began to be prevalent in 
the city ; for now every one was readier to venture openly upon 
those gratifications which he had before dissembled, or indulged 
in secret, when he saw such sudden changes — the rich hurried 
away, and those who before were worth nothing, coming into 
immediate possession of their property ; insomuch that men 
were willing to snatch the enjoyment of such fugitive delights 
as offered themselves, and to live solely for pleasure, regarding 
their lives and their possessions as only held by the tenure of a 
day. As to bestowing labor or pains on any pursuit which 
seemed honorable or noble, no one cared about the matter, it 
being uncertain whether or not he might be snatched away 
previously to the attainment of his object. In short, whatever 
any person thought pleasurable, or such as might in any way 
contribute thereto, that became with him both the honorable 
and useful. No fear of the gods, nor respect for human laws, 
operated as any check ; for as to the former, they accounted 
it the same to worship or not to worship them, since they saw 
all alike perish ; and as to the latter, no one expected that his 
existence would be prolonged till judgment should take effect, 
and he receive the punishment of his offences ; nay, they sup- 
posed that a far heavier judgment, already denounced against 
them, hung over their heads ; and before it fell upon them, they 
thought it right to snatch some enjoyment of life. 



164 xenophon. [b. c. 44T-360. 



XENOPHON. 
b. c. 447—360. 

Xenophon, the son of Gryllus of Athens, was horn in that city 447 
B. C. While yet a youth he became very much attached to Socrates ; 
and when in the disastrous battle of Deliuni, in the eighth year of the 
Peloponnesian war, he fell from his horse, he owed his safety to the 
broad shoulders of the great philosopher, who carried him from the 
field; and henceforth he became his faithful and devoted disciple. 
He was the first who committed to writing the sayings and doings of 
his great master ; and his account of him, styled the " Memorabilia," 
is among the most pleasing, instructive, and valuable writings that 
have been left us by antiquity. 

Nothing more is known of him till the year 401, when he entered 
the service of the younger Cyrus in his expedition to dethrone his 
brother, not as an officer but as a private soldier, and at once secured 
the confidence and admiration of the Persian prince. After the battle 
of Cunaxa, near Babylon, in which Cyrus fell, the Greeks, who re- 
mained masters of the field, commenced their memorable retreat, cross- 
ing the Tigris, and proceeding up the eastern bank of that river, the 
Persian army, with Tissaphernes at their head, following. When 
they reached the greater Zab, Tissaphernes treacherously decoyed the 
best of the Grecian generals into his camp, under pretence of wishing 
a conference with them, and there suddenly surrounded them by bands 
of soldiers and put them to death. It was at this desperate crisis that 
the qualifications of Xenophon pointed him out as the one to save the 
army. He harangues the soldiers, directs them as to the course they 
should pursue, and by his wisdom, energy, bravery, and fitness to meet 
every difficulty, conducts the ten thousand safely to the shores of the 
Euxine. His account of this expedition, entitled The Anabasis, is one 
of the most delightful and instructive books of military history and 
of travels. 

But Xenophon had not the good fortune to return to his native land ; 
for the jealous Athenians passed sentence of banishment against him, 
during his absence ; probably because he was known to have the 
same views and principles as his master Socrates. In 394 B. C. he 
fought on the side of the Lacedaemonians against the Athenians at 
Coronsea. The grateful Spartans granted him an estate at Scillus 
near Olympia in Elis, where he was joined by his wife and children. 



B , c. 447-360.] xenophon. 165 

Here he passed more than twenty years in literary leisure, in horti- 
culture, in the management of his household property, in social enjoy- 
ments, and active field-sports. His employments, says Diogenes 
Lacrtius, were hunting, entertaining his friends, and writing his his- 
tories. But he was at last expelled from this retreat by the Eleans, 
for what reason is not known, and he is said to have retired to Corinth, 
where he died about 360 B. C, at the advanced age of eighty-seven. 

The manners and personal appearance of Xenophon are described 
by Laertius in one short but comprehensive sentence, «tfyua>v Jl nxl 
tviiterntToq slq v-rre^SoXnv, " modest in deportment and beautiful in person 
to a remarkable degree." As a philosopher he was strictly of the 
Socratic sect. Endeavoring to follow in practice the precepts which 
he had learned from the lips of his illustrious master, he disdained to 
waste his time upon mere verbal quibbles and useless diputes, and 
strove to be practical, to do good to his fellow men, and to inculcate 
the purest principles of morality. 

As a writer, he has been universally held up as a model of purity, 
elegance, and ease. By some of his contemporaries he was styled 
" The Attic Muse," by others, " The Athenian Bee." He has the happy 
faculty of varying his style according to the subjects he is discussing, 
so that in philosophy, history, politics, and personal narrative, he 
appears equally at home. 

As a man, Xenophon excites our fondest admiration, our warmest 
esteem. By his unaffected modesty and urbanity he gains the one ; 
by his firm principles, moral and religious, he gains the other. His 
intimacy with Socrates, the testimony of his contemporaries, and the 
sentiments that pervade all his writings, attest his great moral worth. 

The following fine remarks on Xenophon are taken from Mitchell's 
"Preliminary Discourse" to the Plays of Aristophanes : — 

"Early in life, Xenophon had been thrown into those situations 
which make a man think and act for himself; which teach him prac- 
tically how much more important it is, that there should be fixed 
principles of right and wrong in the minds of men in general, than that 
there should be a knowledge of letters or a feeling of their elegance in 
the minds of a few. The writer who has thrown equal interest into 
the account of a retreating army, and the description of a scene of 
coursing ; who has described with the same fidelity a common groom, 
and a perfect pattern of conjugal fidelity, such a man had seen life 
under aspects which taught him to know that there were things of 
infinitely more importance than the turn of a phrase, the music of a 
cadence, and the other niceties, which are wanted by a luxurious and 
opulent metropolis. 



166 xenophon. [b. c. 44T-360. 

" Estranged from his own country, at first by choice, and very soon 
afterwards by necessity, Xenophon became, almost before the age of 
manhood, a citizen of the world ; and the virtuous feelings, which 
were necessary in a mind constituted as his was, let loose from the 
channels of mere patriotism, took into their comprehensive bosom the 
welfare of the world. Life, which had commenced with him in a 
manner singularly active and romantically perilous, was very soon 
exchanged for that quiet solitude, which either finds men good or 
makes them such. In his delightful retirement at Scillus, 1 amid 
those enchanting rural scenes, where a bad man finds himself an 
anomaly in the beautiful and harmonious works of nature around 
him, Xenophon had ample leisure to meditate on all that he had seen 
or heard. His own high talents, aided by such experience and such 
connections, would teach him what to omit, and what to press in a 
work, not intended merely for the wits and savans of Athens, but 
meant to be one of those eternal possessions, which great minds gene- 
rate and perfect in solitude and retirement. It is the Ethics, there- 
fore, of Socrates that are chiefly unfolded in the admirable Memorabilia 
of Xenophon ; and after admitting that many of the higher doctrines 
of antiquity are but negatives 2 of the Christian precepts, he must be 
dead to the moral sense, who does not feel a burst of exultation within 
him, at seeing how much even unassisted nature is able to produce." 

The chief works which Xenophon has left are as follows : — 

I. The Anabasis, giving an account of the enlistment of the ten 
thousand Greeks, under Clearchus, in the service of the younger Cyrus ; 
their march through Asia Minor and Syria to the battle-ground of 
Cunaxa ; their achievements in the battle — their admirable retreat 
across the Tigris, up the eastern bank of that river, over the Cardu- 
chian Mountains, and through Armenia to the shores of the Hellespont. 
Had he written nothing else, this, by its charming narrative, its de- 
lineation of character, and its high-toned morality, would have immor- 
talized his name. 

II. The Hellexic^e. — This is an historical treatise divided into seven 
books, extending over a period of forty-eight years, taking up the 

1 It is difficult to imagine a more rational or more delightful life, than a 
few words of Diogenes Laertius describe Xenophon as leading in that "loop- 
hole of retreat." Books, study, composition; the healthy sports of the 
field, and the enjoyments of social recreation ; nothing seems wanting to the 
picture, which our imaginations are accustomed to draw of an accomplished 
heathen philosopher. 

' 2 How much this is the case in the great Christian precept of " doing as we 
would be done by," and the maxim of antiquity, which approaches nearest 
to it, has been well shown by Mitford in his History of Greece. 



b. c. 447-360.] xenophon. 167 

history of Greece from the time of Thucydides, and carrying it forward 
to the battle of Mantinsea, 362 B. C. 

III. The Cyrop;edia. — This is a sort of political romance, in eight 
hooks, the basis of which is the history of Cyrus the Great, the founder 
of the Persian empire. It is one of the most graceful and pleasing of 
Xenophon's works, portraying the course of rigid early training, in the 
paths of virtue and hardihood, submitted to by Cyrus and the younger 
Persian nobility. 

IV. The QUconomicus — an excellent treatise, written in the form of a 
dialogue between Socrates and Critobulus, showing forth the art which 
relates to the administration of one's household and property. 

V. The Agesilaus — which is a panegyric upon Agesilaus II., King 
of Sparta, the friend of Xenophon. 

VI. The Hipparchicus — a treatise on the horse, and on the duties of 
a commander of cavalry, which is evidently the production of one 
thoroughly acquainted with the subject. 

VII. The Cynegeticus— a treatise on hunting, an amusement of 
which Xenophon was very fond ; on the breeding and training of 
dogs ; and on the various kinds of game and the mode of taking 
them. 

VIII. The Memorabilia of Socrates. — This consists of four books, in 
which Xenophon defends the memory of the Athenian sage against 
the charges of corrupting the youths of Athens, and of irreligion. He 
enters into specific examination of these two charges, and then demon- 
strates the actual life of his great master, of whom it is a genuine and 
beautiful picture. The ancients have left us no more pleasing and 
instructive book than this. 

IX. The Symposium, or Banquet of the Philosophers. — The speakers 
are supposed to meet at the house of Callius, a rich Athenian, at the 
celebration of the great Panathensea. Socrates, Critobulus, Antis- 
thenes, Charmides, and others are the speakers, and the discussion 
turns on love and friendship. It is a picture of an Athenian party, 
and of the amusement and conversation with which it was diversified. 

X. The Hiero is a dialogue between King Hiero and Simonides, in 
which the king speaks of the dangers and difficulties incident to an 
exalted station, and the superior happiness of private men. 



CYRUS TAKING BABYLON. 

When Cyrus got to Babylon he posted his whole army round 
the city, then rode round the city himself, together with his 



168 xenophon. [b. c. 44*7-360. 

friends, and with such of his allies as he thought proper. When 
they were encamped Cyrus summoned to him the proper per- 
sons, and said : " Friends and allies ! we have taken a view of 
the city round, and I do not find that I can discover it is possible 
for one, by any attack, to make one's self master of walls that 
are so strong and so high. But the greater the numbers of 
men in the city are, since they venture not out to fight, so much 
the sooner, in my opinion, they may be taken by famine. 
Therefore, unless you have some other method to propose, I say 
that these men must be besieged and taken in that manner. " 
Then Chrysantas said : " Does not this river, that is above two 
stadia over, run through the midst of the city?" "Yes, by 
Jove J" said Gobryas, " and it is of so great a depth, that two 
men, one standing on the other, would not reach above the 
water ; so that the city is yet stronger by the river than by its 
walls." Then Cyrus said : " Chrysantas, let us lay aside these 
things that are above our force ; it is our business, as soon as 
possible, to dig as broad and as deep a ditch as we can, each 
of us measuring out his proportion, that by this means we may 
want the fewer men to keep watch." So measuring out the 
ground around the wall, and from the side of the river, leaving 
a space sufficient for large turrets, he dug round the wall on 
every side a very great ditch ; and they threw up the earth to- 
wards themselves. 

The ditches being now finished, Cyrus, when he heard that 
they were celebrating a festival in Babylon, in which all the 
Babylonians drank and revelled the whole night ; on that occa- 
sion, as soon as it grew dark, took a number of men with him, 
and opened the ditches into the river. When this was done 
the water ran off in the night by the ditches, and the passage 
of the river through the city became passable. When the affair 
of the river was thus managed, Cyrus gave orders to the Per- 
sian commanders of thousands, both foot and horse, to attend 
him, each with his thousand drawn up two in front, and the 
rest of the allies to follow in the rear, ranged as they used to 
be before. They came accordingly. Then making those that 
attended his person, both foot and horse, to go down into the 
dry part of the river, ordered them to try whether the channel 
of the river was passable. And when they brought him word 
that it was passable, he then called together the commanders 
both of foot and horse, and spoke to them in this manner : — 

11 The river, my friends, has yielded us a passage into the 
city ; let us boldly enter, and not fear anything within, con- 
sidering that these people that we are now to inarch against 



B. C. 441-360.] XENOPHON. 100 

are the same that we defeated while they had their allies attend- 
ing- them, while they were awake, sober, armed, and in order- 
But now we march to them at a time that many of them are 
asleep, many drunk, and all of them in confusion ; and when 
they discover that we are got in, they will then, by means of 
their consternation, be yet more unlit for service than they are 
now. Come on, then; take to your arms, and, with the help 
of the gods, I will lead you on. We must not be remiss, but 
march, that we take them as much unprepared as is possible." 

When this was said they marched; and, of those that they 
met with, some they fell on and killed, some fled, and some set 
up a clamor. They that were with Gobryas joined in the 
clamor with them, as if they were revellers themselves, and 
marching on the shortest way that they could, they got round 
about the palace. Then they that attended Gadatas and Go- 
bryas in military order, found the doors of the palace shut ; 
and they that were posted opposite to the guards fell on them, 
as they were drinking, with a great deal of light around them, 
and used them immediately in a hostile manner. As soon as 
the noise and clamor began, they that were within perceiving 
the disturbance, and the king commanding them to examine 
what the matter was, ran out, throwing open the gates. They 
that were with Gadatas, as soon as they saw the gates loose, 
broke in, pressing forward on the runaways, and dealing their 
blows amongst them; they then came up to the king, and found 
him in a standing posture, with his sword drawn. They that 
were with Gadatas and Gobryas, being many in number, mas- 
tered him ; they likewise that were with him were killed ; one 
holding up something before him, another flying, and another 
defending himself with anything that he could meet with. Cy- 
rus sent a body of horse up and down through the streets, bid- 
ding them kill those that they found abroad, and ordering some 
who understood the Syrian language to proclaim it to those 
that were in the houses to remain within, and that if any were 
found abroad they should be killed. 

When day came, and they that guarded the castles perceived 
that the city was taken and the king dead, they gave up the 
castles. Cyrus immediately took possession of the castles, and 
sent commanders with garrisons into them. He gave up the 
dead to be buried by their relations, and ordered heralds to 
make proclamation that the Babylonians should bring out their 
arms, and made it be declared that in whatever house any arms 
should be found, all the people in it should suffer death. They 
accordingly brought out their arms, and Cyrus had them de- 
15 



170 xenophon. [b. c. 447-360. 

posited in the castles, that they might be ready in case he 
should want them on any future occasion. 



TIIE DEATH OF CYRUS. 

11 Children, and all you, my friends, here present! the conclu- 
sion of my life is now at hand, which I certainly know from 
many symptoms. * * Now, if I die, I leave you, children, 
behind me (whom the gods have given me), and I leave my 
country and my friends happy. Ought not I, therefore, in jus- 
tice, to be always remembered, and mentioned as fortunate and 
happy ? I must likewise declare to whom I leave my kingdom, 
lest that, being doubtful, should hereafter raise dissensions 
among you. Now, children, I bear an equal affection to you 
both ; but I direct that the elder should have the advising and 
conducting of affairs, as his age requires it, and it is probable 
he has more experience. * * Do you, therefore, Cambyses, 
hold the kingdom, as allotted you by the gods and by me, so 
far as it is in my power. To you, Tauoaxares, I bequeath the 
satrapy of the Medes, Armenians, and Cadusians ; which when 
I allot you, I think I leave your elder brother a larger empire, 
and the title of a kingdom, but to you a happiness freer from 
care and vexation : for I do not see what human satisfaction 
you can need : but you will enjoy whatever appears agreeable 
and pleasing to men. * * * 

"Know, therefore, Cambyses, that it is not the golden sceptre 
which can preserve your kingdom ; but faithful friends are a 
prince's truest and securest sceptre. But do not imagine that 
men are naturally faithful (for then they would appear so to 
all, as other natural endowments do) ; but every one must ren- 
der others faithful to himself: and they are not to be procured 
by violence, but rather by kindness and beneficence. If, there- 
fore, you would constitute other joint guardians with you of 
your kingdom, whom can you better begin with than him who 
is of the same blood with yourself ? * * The taking care 
of a brother is providing for one's self. To whom can the ad- 
vancement of a brother be equally honorable, as to a brother ? 
Who can show a regard to a great and powerful man equal to 
his brother ? Who will fear to injure another, so much as him 
whose brother is in an exalted station ? Be, therefore, second 
to none in submission and good- will to your brother, since no 
one can be so particularly serviceable or injurious to you. 
And I would have you consider how you can hope for greater 



b. c. 447-3G0.] xenopiion. 171 

advantages by obliging any one so much as him? Or whom can 
you assist that will be so powerful an ally in war ? Or what 
is more infamous than want of friendship between brothers? 
Whom, of all men, can we so handsomely pay regard to as to a 
brother ? In a word, Cambyses, your brother is the only one 
you can advance next to your person without the envy of others. 
Therefore, in the name of the gods, children, have regard for 
one another, if you are careful to do what is acceptable to me. 
For you ought not to imagine, you certainly know, that after 
I have closed this period of human life I shall no longer exist : 
for neither do you now see my soul, but you conclude, from its 
operations, that it does exist. And have you not observed 
what terrors and apprehensions murderers are inspired with by 
those who have suffered violence from them ? What racks and 
torture do they convey to the guilty ? Or how do you think 
honors should have continued to be paid to the deceased, if 
their souls were destitute of all power and virtue ? No, child- 
ren, I can never be persuaded that the soul lives no longer 
than it dwells in this mortal body, and that it dies on its sepa- 
ration ; for I see that the soul communicates vigor and motion 
to mortal bodies during its continuance in them. Neither can 
I be persuaded that the soul is divested of intelligence, on its 
separation from this gross, senseless body; but it is probable, 
that when the soul is separated, it becomes pure and entire, 
and is then more intelligent. It is evident that, on man's dis- 
solution, every part of him returns to what is of the same na- 
ture with itself, except the soul ; that alone is invisible, both 
during its presence here, and its departure. And you may 
have observed that nothing resembles death so much as sleep ; 
but then it is that the human soul appears most divine, and has 
a prospect of futurity ; for then it is probable the soul is most 
free and independent. If, therefore, things are as I think, and 
that the soul leaves the body, having regard to my soul,- com- 
ply with my request. But if it be otherwise, and that the soul 
continuing in the body perishes with it, let nothing appear in 
your thoughts or actions criminal or impious, for fear of the 
gods, who are eternal, whose power and inspection extend over 
all things, and who preserve the harmony and order of the uni- 
verse free from decay or defect, whose greatness and beauty is 
inexplicable ! Next to the gods, have regard to the whole race 
of mankind, in perpetual succession ; for the gods have not 
concealed you in obscurity ; but there is a necessity that your 
actions should be conspicuous to the world. If they are vir- 
tuous, and free from injustice, they will give you power and 



172 xenophon. [b. c. 441-3G0. 

interest in all men; but if you project what is unjust against 
each other, no man will trust you ; for no one can place a con- 
fidence in you, though his inclination to do it be ever so great, 
when he sees you unjust, where it most becomes you to be a 
friend. * * * 

" When I am dead, children, do not inshrine ray body in 
gold, nor in silver, nor anything else ; but lay it in the earth as 
soon as possible ; for what can be more happy than to mix with 
the earth, which gives birth and nourishment to all things ex- 
cellent and good ? And as I have always hitherto borne an 
affection to men, so it is now most pleasing to me to incorpo- 
rate with that which is beneficial to men. Now," said he, "it 
seems to me that my soul is beginning to leave me, in the same 
manner as it is probable it begins its departure with others. 
If, therefore, any of you are desirous of touching my right hand, 
or willing to see my face while it has life, come near to me ; 
for, when I shall have covered it, I request of you, children, 
that neither yourselves, nor any others, would look on my body. 
Summon all the Persians and their allies before my tomb, to 
rejoice for me ; that I shall be then out of danger of suffering 
any evil, whether I shall be with the gods, or shall be reduced 
to nothing. As many as come, do you dismiss with all those- 
favors that are thought proper for a happy man. And," said 
he, "remember this as my last and dying words. If you do 
kindnesses to your friends, you will be able to injure your ene- 
mies. Farewell, dear children, and tell this to your mother as 
from me. And all you, my friends, both such of you as are 
here present, and the rest who are absent — farewell !" Having 
said this, and taken every one by the right hand, he covered 
himself, and thus expired. 



THE CHOICE OF HERCULES. 

Prodicus tells us, to the best of my remembrance, that 
Hercules having attained to that stage of life when man, being 
left to the government of himself, seldom fails to give certain 
indications whether he will walk in the paths of virtue or wan- 
der through all the intricacies of vice, perplexed and undeter- 
mined what course to pursue, retired into a place where silence 
and solitude might bestow on him that tranquillity and leisure 
so necessary for deliberation, when two women, of more than 
ordinary stature, came on towards him. The countenance of 
the one, open and amiable, and elevated with an air of con- 



b. c. 447-3G0.] xenopiion. 173 

scions dignity. Her person was adorned with native elegance, 
her look with modesty, every gesture with decency, and her 
garments were altogether of the purest white. The other was 
comely, but bloated, as from too high living. Affecting soft- 
ness and delicacy, every look, every action, was studied and 
constrained ; while art contributed all its powers to give those 
charms to her complexion and shape which nature had denied 
her. Her look was bold, the blush of modesty she was a 
stranger to, and her dress was contrived, not to conceal, but to 
display those beauties she supposed herself possessed of. She 
would look round to see if any observed her ; and not only so, 
but she would frequently stand still to admire her own shadow. 
Drawing near to the place where the hero sat musing, eager 
and anxious for the advantage of first accosting him, she hastily 
ran forward ; while the person who accompanied her moved on 
with her usual pace, equal and majestic. Joining him, she 
said, "I know, my Hercules! you have long been deliberating 
on the course of life you should pursue ; engage with me in 
friendship, and I will lead you through those paths which are 
smooth and flowery, where every delight shall court your en- 
joyment, and pain and sorrow r shall not once appear. Absolved 
from all the fatigue of business and the hardships of war, your 
employment shall be to share in the social pleasures of the 
table, or repo? s on beds of down ; no sense shall remain with- 
out its gratification ; beauty shall delight the eye and melody 
the ear, and perfumes shall breathe their odors around you. 
Nor shall your care be once wanted for the procuring of these 
things: neither be afraid lest time should exhaust your stock 
of joys, and reduce you to the necessity of purchasing new, 
either by the labor of body or mind : it is to the toil of others 
that you alone shall owe them ! Scruple not, therefore, to 
seize whatever seemeth most desirable ; for this privilege I 
bestow on all who are my votaries." 

Hercules having heard so flattering an invitation, demanded 
her name. " My friends," said she, "call me Happiness ; but 
they who do not love me endeavor to make me odious, and 
therefore brand me with the name of Sensuality. 11 

By this time the other person being arrived, thus addressed 
him in her turn : — 

" I also, Hercules ! am come to offer you my friendship, 
for I am no stranger to your high descent ; neither was I want- 
ing to remark the goodness of your disposition in all the exer- 
cises of your childhood ; from whence I gather hopes, if you 
choose to follow where I lead the way, it will not be long ere 

15* 



1?4 xenophon. [b. c. 44T-3G0. 

3 t ou have an opportunity of performing many actions glorious 
to yourself and honorable to me. But I mean not to allure 
you with specious promises of pleasure, I will plainly set before 
you things as they really are, and show you in what manner 
the gods think proper to dispose of them. Know, therefore, 
young man ! these wise governors of the universe have decreed, 
that nothing great, nothing excellent, shall be obtained without 
care and labor. They give no real good, no true happiness, on 
other terms. If, therefore, you would secure the favor of these 
gods, adore them. If you would conciliate to yourself the 
affection of your friends, be of use to them. If to be honored 
and respected of the republic be your aim, show your fellow- 
citizens how effectually you can serve them. But if it is your 
ambition that all Greece shall esteem you, let all Greece share 
the benefits arising from your labors. If you wish for the fruits 
of the earth, cultivate it. If for the increase of your flocks or 
your herds, let your flocks and your herds have your attendance 
and your care. And if your design is to advance yourself by 
arms, if you wish for the power of defending your friends, and 
subduing your enemies, learn the art of war under those who 
are well acquainted with it ; and, when learnt, employ it to the 
best advantage. And if to have a body ready and well able to 
perform what you wish from it, be your desire, subject yours to 
your reason, and let exercise and hard labor give to it strength 
and agility." 

At these words, as Prodicus informs us, the other interrupted 
her: "You see," said she, "my Hercules, the long, the labo- 
rious road she means to lead you ; but I can conduct you to 
happiness by a path more short and easy." 

"Miserable wretch!" replied Virtue, "what happiness canst 
thou boast of? Thou, who wilt not take the least pains to 
procure it! Doth not satiety always anticipate desire ? "Wilt 
thou wait till hunger invites thee to eat, or stay till thou art 
thirsty before thou drinkest ? Or, rather, to give some relish 
to thy repast, must not art be called in to supply the want of 
appetite? while thy wines, though costly, can yield no delight, 
but the ice in summer is sought for to cool and make them 
grateful to thy palate! Beds of down, or the softest couch, 
can procure no sleep for thee, whom idleness iuclines to seek 
for repose; not labor and fatigue, which alone prepare for it. 
Nor dost thou leave it to nature to direct thee in thy pleasures, 
but all is art and shameless impurity. The night is polluted 
with riot and crimes, while the day is given up to sloth and 
inactivity: and, though immortal, thou art become an outcast 



b. c. 44*7-300.] XENoniON. H5 

from the gods, and the contempt and scorn of all good men. 
Thou boastest of happiness; but what happiness canst thou 
boast of? Where was it that the sweetest of all sounds, the 
music of just self-praise, ever reached thine ear ? Or when 
couldst thou view, with complacency and satisfaction, one 
worthy deed of thy own performing? Is there any who will 
trust thy word, or depend upon thy promise; or, if sound in 
judgment, be of thy society ? For, among thy followers, which 
of them, in youth, are not altogether effeminate and infirm of 
body? Which of them, in age, not stupid and debilitated in 
every faculty of the mind? While wasting their prime in 
thoughtless indulgence, they prepare for themselves all that 
pain and remorse so sure to attend the close of such a life ! 
Ashamed of the past, afflicted with the present, they weary 
themselves in bewailing that folly which lavished on youth all 
the joys of life, and left nothing to old age but pain and imbe- 
cility I 

"As for me, ray dwelling is alone with the gods and good 
men; and, without me, nothing great, nothing excellent, can 
be performed, whether on earth or in the heavens ; so that my 
praise, my esteem, is with all who know me! I make the labor 
of the artist pleasant, and bring to the father of his family 
security and joy; while the slave, as his lord, is alike my care. 
In peace I direct to the most useful councils, in war approve 
myself a faithful ally; and 1 only can tie the bond of indisso- 
luble friendship. Nor do my votaries even fail to find pleasure 
in their repasts, though small cost is wanted to furnish out their 
table ; for hunger, not art, prepares it for them ; while their 
sleep, which follows the labor of the clay, is far more sweet than 
whatever expense can procure for idleness : yet, sweet as it is, 
they quit it unreluctant when called by their duty, whether to 
the gods or men. The young enjoy the applause of the aged, 
the aged are reverenced and respected by the young. Equally 
delighted with reflecting on the past, or contemplating the 
present, their attachment to me renders them favored of the 
gods, dear to their friends, and honored by their country. And 
when the fatal hour is arrived, they sink not, like others, into 
an inglorious oblivion, but, immortalized by fame, flourish for- 
ever in the grateful remembrance of admiring posterity ! Thus, 
Hercules ! thou great descendant of a glorious race of heroes ! 
thus mayst thou attain that supreme felicity wherewith I have 
been empowered to reward all those who willingly yield them- 
selves up to my direction." 

"See here, my Aristippus," continued Socrates; "see here 



176 ARISTOPHANES. [fi. C. 425. 

the advice which, Prodicus tells us, Virtue gave the young 
hero. He clothes it, as you may suppose, in more exalted 
language than I have attempted ; but it will be your wisdom 
if you endeavor to profit from what he hath said, and consider 
at present what may befall you hereafter." 



ARISTOPHANES. 

FLOURISHED ABOUT 425 B. C. 

The Muses seeking for a shrine, 

Whose glories ne'er should cease : 
Found, as they stray'd, the soul divine 

Of Aristophanes. 

Mtri '•ale's Version of Plato. 

This great Athenian comic poet was born about 444 B. C. Of his 
private history we know nothing, except that he indulged himself in 
convivial entertainments, and would at times spend whole nights in 
drinking and witty conversation. His society and conversation were 
so fascinating, however, that many of his distinguished contempora- 
ries were often found in his company, and even Plato gives him a 
distinguished place in his banquet. His first comedy was exhibited 
about 425, and his last 388 B. C, and he died at the advanced age of 
seventy years, having been the author of fifty four plays, of which 
eleven are extant. 

The comedies of Aristophanes are of the highest historical interest, 
as they contain an admirable series of caricatures on the leading men 
of the day, and a contemporary commentary on the evils existing at 
Athens. The first evil of his own time against which he inveighs, is 
the Peloponnesian war, which he regards as the work of Pericles. 
Another object of his satire was the system of education introduced 
by the sophists, who made persuasion and not truth the object of man 
in his intercourse with his fellows ; and for effect he extended these 
true objects of satire to the virtuous and gifted Socrates, whom in the 
" Clouds" he held up to the derision of the Athenian people. Another 
feature of the times which came in for its share of his ridicule was the 
litigious spirit of the Athenians, the consequent importance of the 
"dicasts," or jurymen, and the disgraceful abuse of their povrer, all of 
which enormities, with many others of his day, were made by Aristo- 
phanes the objects of continual attack. 



B. C. 425.] ARISTOPHANES. 177 

The following are the names of the eleven comedies of Aristophanes, 
that are extant, and probably in the chronological order in which they 
were exhibited : " Acharnians," 425 ; " Knights," 424 ; " Clouds," 422 ; 
"Wasps," 422; "Peace," 421 ; "Birds," 414; "Sysistrata," 411 ; "Thes- 
mophoriazuS86,"411 ; "Frogs," 405; " Ecclesiazusse," 392 ; and"Plu- 
tus," 388 B. C. In the " Acharnians," Aristophanes paints the sad 
evils of the Peloponnesian war. In the " Knights," personifying the 
Athenian people as Demus (as Americans would be represented by 
Brother Jonathan), he represents the vices and follies of his country- 
men. In the " Clouds," feeling a contempt for the sophists, he seizes 
upon Socrates, most unjustly, as their representative, and holds him 
up to ridicule. In the "Wasps" he satirizes the well-known litigious- 
ness of the Athenian people. The " Thesmophoriazusse" is a bitter 
attack upon the vices prevalent among the female sex. Its name is 
taken from the Thesmophoria, or feast of Ceres and Bacchus, at which 
women alone were present. The comedy called " Peace" is in praise 
and recommendation of that first of private and public blessings. The 
" Birds" exposes the ambitious schemes of Alcibiades, and parodies 
and ridicules some of the plays of Euripides. In the "Plutus"he 
vindicates the conduct of Providence in the ordinary distribution of 
wealth, and at the same time shows the tendency of riches to corrupt 
the morals of those who possess them. 

The comedies of Aristophanes are universally regarded as the stand- 
ard of Attic writing in its greatest purity. 1 His genius was vast, ver- 

1 Men smile when they hear the anecdote of one of the most venerable 
fathers of the church,* who never went to bed without Aristophanes under 
his pillow. But the noble tone of morals, the elevated taste, the sound 
political wisdom, the boldness and acuteness of the satire, the grand object, 
which is seen throughout, of correcting the follies of the day, and improving 
the condition of his country — all these are features in Aristophanes, which, 
however disguised, as they intentionally are, by coarseness and buffoonery, 
entitle him to the highest respect from every reader of antiquity. He con- 
descended, indeed, to play the part of jester to the Athenian tyrant. But 
his jests were the vehicles for telling to them the soundest truths. They 
were never without a far higher aim than to raise a momentary laugh. He 
was no farce writer, but a deep philosophical politician ; grieved and ashamed 
at the condition of his country, and through the stage, the favorite amuse- 
ment of Athenians, aiding to carry on the one great common work, which 
Plato proposed in his dialogues, and in which all the better and nobler spirits 
of the time seem to have concurred as by a confederacy — the reformation of 
an atrocious democracy. There is as much system in the comedies of Aris- 
tophanes as in the dialogues of Plato. Every part of a vitiated public mind 
is exposed in its turn. Its demagogues in the Knights, its courts of justice 
in the Wasps, its foreign policy in the Acharnians, its tyranny over the 
allies in the Birds, the state of female society in the Sysistrate and the 
Ecclesiazusao, and its corrupt poetical taste in the Erogs. No one play is 

* Chryso.stow. 



It8 ARISTOPHANES. [b. C. 425. 

satile, and original, and his knowledge of human nature surpassed by 
Homer and Shakspeare alone. He uniformly varies and accommo- 
dates his style to his subject, and to the speakers in the scene. On 
some occasions it is elevated, grave, sublime, and polished to a won- 
derful degree of brilliancy and beauty ; while in others it sinks and 
descends into humble dialogue, provincial rusticity,. coarse obscenity, 
and even to puns and quibbles. The versatility, too, of his genius is 
admirable ; for in his varied scenes he gives us every rank and con- 
dition of men, and in every one he is strictly characteristic. In some 
passages, and frequently in his choruses, he soars beyond the ordinary 
province of comedy, into the loftiest flights of poetry ; and in these he 
is scarcely surpassed by either iEschylus or Pindar. In sentiment 
and good sense he is not inferior to Euripides ; and in the acuteness 
of his criticisms no poet of antiquity equalled him. 



SCENES FROM THE CLOUDS. 1 
PERSONS REPRESENTED. 

Strepsiades, the Father. Disciples of Socrates. 

Pheidippides, the Spendthrift Son. Socrates. 

Servant to Strepsiades. Chorus oj Clouds. 

Scene I. 

[Strepsiades is discovered in his chamber, Pheidippides sleeping in 
his bed. Time, before break of day.] 

Strepsiades. (Stretching and yaicning.) dear ! dear ! 

O Lord! Zeus ! these nights, how long they are. 

without its definite object : and the state of national education, as the greatest 
cause of all, is laid open in the Clouds. Whatever light is thrown, by that 
admirable play, upon the character of Socrates, and the position which he 
occupies in the Platonic Dialogues — a point, it may be remarked, on which 
the greatest mistakes are daily made — it is chiefly valuable as exhibiting, in 
a short but very complete analysis, and by a number of fine Rembrandt-like 
strokes, not any of which must be overlooked, all the features of that fright- 
ful school' of sophistry, which at that time was engaged systematically in 
corrupting the Athenian youth, and against which the whole battery of 
Plato was pointedly directed. — Introduction to the Dialogues of Plato, -by 
W. Sewall, B. D. 

1 The Clouds was intended as an exhibition of the corrupt state of educa- 
tion at Athens, and as an exposure of Socrates, whom the poet chose to con- 
sider as the principal author of that corruption. The story is of a young 
spendthrift, who has involved his father in debt by his passion for horses, 
and who, being placed under the care of Socrates, soon learns to defraud his 
creditors, to contemn his father, and to regard honor amongst men. and piety 
towards the gods, as the by-gone dreams and vulgar prejudices of a barbar- 
ous age. The metaphysics of the Sophists are embodied in the person of 



B. C. 425.] ARISTOPHANES. 11 ( J 

Will they ne'er pass ? will the day never come ? 

Surely I heard the cock crow, hours ago. 

Yet still my servants snore. These are new customs. 

'ware of war for many various reasons ; 
One fears in war even to flog his servants. 

And here's this hopeful son of mine wrapped up 

Snoring and sweating under five thick blankets. 

Come, we'll wrap up and snore in opposition. {Tries to sleep.) 

But I can't sleep a wink, devoured and bitten 

By ticks, and bug-bears, duns, and race-horses, 

All through this son of mine. He curls his hair, 

And sports his thorough-breds, and drives his tandem ; 

Even in dreams he rides : while I — I'm ruined 

Now that the Moon has reached her twentieths, 

And paying time comes on. [Boy enters with a light and tablets.'} 

Boy! light a candle, 
And fetch my ledger : now I'll reckon up 
Who are my creditors, and what I owe them. 
Come, let me see then. Fifty pounds to Pasias ! 
Why fifty pounds to Pasias ? what were they for ? 
0, for the hack from Corinth. dear ! dear ! 

1 wish my eye had been hacked out before — 

Pheidippides. {In his sleep.) You are cheating, Philon ; keep to your 

own side. 
Streps. Ah! there it is ! that's what has ruined me ! 
Why, in his very sleep he thinks of horses. 

Pheid. {In his sleep.) How many heats do the war-chariots run ? 
Streps. A pretty many heats you have run your father. 
Now, then, what debt assails me after Pasias ? 
A curricle and wheels. Twelve pounds. Amynias. 
Pheid. (In his sleep.) Here, give the horse a roll, and take him home. 
Streps. You have rolled me out of house and home, my boy, 
Cast in some suits already, while some swear 
They will distrain for payment. 
Pheid. (Wakes.) Good, my father, 

What makes you toss so restless all night long ? 
Streps. There's a bumbailiff from the mattress bites me. 
Pheid. Come, now, I prithee, let me sleep in peace. 
Streps. Well, then, you sleep : only be sure of this, 
These debts will fall on your own head at last. 
Alas, alas ! Forever cursed be that same matchmaker, 
Who stirred me up to marry your poor mother. 

Socrates. How foul a wrong this was to that great and good man (himself a 
most decided antagonist of the Sophists), every one at all read in Grecian 
history well knows ; nor is it an excuse for the traducer to say that he erred 
through ignorance, or foresaw not the destruction which his calumnies were 
assistant in bringing down on the head of his guiltless victim. But time has 
set all even, and " poor Socrates" — as a far loftier bard has sung — 

"Poor Socrates, 
By what lie taught, and suffered for so doing, 
For truth's sake .suffering death unjust, lives now, 
Equal in fame to proudest conquerors." — Par. Reg., b. iii. v. 9ij. 



180 ARISTOPHANES. [B. C. 425. 

Mine in the country was the pleasantest life ; 

I was so rough, unpolished, independent ; 

Full of my sheep, and honey-bees, and raisins. 

Ah ! then I married — I a rustic — her, 

A fine town-lady, niece of Megacles. 

A regular, proud, luxurious, Csesyra. 

This wife I married, and we came together, 

I rank with cheese-racks, wine-lees, dripping wool ; ' 

She all with scents, and saffron, and tongue-kissings, 

Feasting, expense, and lordly modes of loving. 

She was not idle, though — she was too fast. 

I told her once, showing my only cloak, 

Threadbare and worn : Wife, you're too fast by half. 

[Boy re-enters.'] 
Servant-boy. Here's no more oil remaining in the lamp. 
Streps. me ! what made you light the tippling lamp ? 
Come and be whipp'd. 

Serv. Why, what would you whip me for ? 
Streps. Why did you put one of those thick wicks in ? 
Well, when at last to me and my good woman 
This hopeful son was born, our son and heir, 
Why then we took to wrangle on the name. 
She was for giving him some knightly name, 
Callippides, Xanthippus, or Charippus : 
I wished, Phidonides, his grandsire's name. 
Thus for some time we argued : till at last 
We compromised it on Phidippides. 
This boy she took, and used to spoil him, saying, 
Some day you'll drive in purple to the Rock, 
Like Megacles, your uncle : whilst I said, 
Some day you'll drive our goats from yonder hills, 
In rough inverted hides, like me your father. 
Well, he cared naught for my advice, but soon 
A galloping consumption caught my fortunes. 
Now cogitating all night long, I've found 
One way, one marvellous transcendent way, 
Which, if he'll follow, we may yet be saved. 
So — but, however, I must rouse him first ; 
But how to rouse him kindliest ? that's the rub. 
Phidippides, my sweet one. 

[Speaking in a soft tone.] 
Pheid. Well, my father. 

Streps. Shake hands, Phidippides, shake hands and kiss me. 
Pheid. There ; what's the matter ? 
Streps. Dost thou love me, boy ? 
Pheid. Ay ! by Poseidon there, the God of horses. 
Streps. No, no, not that : miss out the God of horses, 
That God's the origin of all my evils. 
But if you love me from your heart and soul, 
My son, obey me. 

Pheid. Well, and what's your will ? 

Streps. Strip with all speed, strip off your present habits, 
And go and learn what I'll advise you to. 



B. C. 425.] ARISTOPHANES. 181 

Fluid. Name your commands. 
Streps. Will you obey? 
Pheid. I will, 

By Dionysus ! 

Streps. "Well, then, look this way. 

See you that wicket and the lodge beyond ? 
Pheid. I see : and prithee what is that, my father ? 
Streps. That is the thinking-house of sapient souls. 
There dwell the men who teach — ay, who persuade us, 
That Heaven is one vast fire-extinguisher 
Placed round about us, and that we're the cinders. 
Ay, and they'll teach (only they'll want some money) 
How one may speak and conquer, right or wrong. 
Pheid. Come, tell their names. 

Streps. Well, I can't quite remember, 

But they're deep thinkers, and true gentlemen. 
Pheid. Out on the rogues ! I know them. Those rank pedants, 
Those mealy, barefoot vagabonds you mean : 
That Chrcrephon, and Socrates, poor devil. 

Streps. Oh! Oh! hush! hush! don't use those foolish words ; 
But if the sorrows of my barley touch you, 
Enter their Schools and cut the Turf for ever. 
Pheid. I wouldn't go, so help me Dionysus, 
For all Leogoras's breed of racers ! 
Streps. Go, I beseech you, dearest, dearest son, 
Go and be taught. 

Pheid. And what would you have me learn! 
Streps. 'Tis known that in their Schools they keep two Logics, 
The Worse (Zeus save the mark), the Worse and Better. 
This Second Logic, then, I mean the Worse one, 
They teach to talk unjustly and — prevail. 
Think, then, you only learn that Unjust Logic, 
And all the debts, which I have incurred through you — 
I'll never pay, no, not one farthing of them. 
P/a id. I will not go. It were a burning shame. 
How could I speak to knights, a yellow pedant ! 
Streps. ! then, by Zeus, you've ate your last of mine, 
You, and your coach-horse, and.yOur out-rider: 
Out with you ! Go to pot, 1 for all I care. 
Pheid. But Uncle Megacies won't leave me long- 
Without a horse : I'll go to him : good-by. 
Streps. I'm thrown, by Zeus, but I won't long lie prostrate. 
I'll pray the Gods and send myself to school : 
I'll go at once and try their thinking-house. 
Stay : how can I, forgetful, slow, old fool, 
Learn the nice hair-splittings of subtle Logic. 
Well, go I must. 'Twon't do to linger here. 
Come on, I'll knock the door. Boy. Ho, there. Boy. 
Student. (Within.) Ugh! Go to pot! who's knocking at the door? 

1 The literal Greek phrase is sc nooxmc, '-to the crows," happily here trans- 
lated by our familiar phrase, '-go to pot." 

10 



182 ARISTOPHANES. [b. C. 425. 

Streps. I ! Phidon's son : Strepsiad.es of Cicynna. 

Stud. Why, what a clown you are ! so viciously, 

Rudely, and carelessly, to kick out door ! 

You've made ni} 7 cogitation to miscarry. 

Streps. Forgive me : I'm an awkward country fool. 

But tell me, what was that I made miscarry ? 

Stud. "lis not allowed : Students alone may hear. 

Streps. that's all right : you may tell me : I'm come 

To he a student in your thinking-house. 

Stud. Come, then. But they're high mysteries, rememher. 

'Twas Socrates was asking Chserephon, 

How many feet of its own a flea could jump. 

For one had just hit Chserephon's huge eyebrow, 

Then off it hopped, and pitched on Socrates. 

Streps. How did he measure this ? 

Stud. Most cleverly. 

He warmed some wax, and then he caught the flea, 

And dipped its feet into the wax he'd melted : 

Then let it cool, and there were Persian slippers ! 

These he took off, and so he found the distance. 

Streps. Zeus and king, what subtle intellects ! 

Stud. What would you say then if you heard another, 

Our Master's own ? 

Streps. come, do tell me that. 

Stud. Why, Chserephon was asking him in turn, 

Which theory did he sanction ; that the gnats 

Hummed through their mouth, or backwards, through the tail ? 

Streps. Ay, and what said your Master of the gnat ? 

Stud. He answered thus : the entrail of the gnat 

Is small : and through this narrow pipe the wind 

Rushes with violence straight towards the tail ; 

There, close against this pipe, the hollow end 

Receives the wind, and whistles to the blast. 

Streps. Then the hind end is trumpet to the gnats ! 

O happy, happy in your entrail-learning : 

Full surely need he fear nor debts, nor duns, 

Who knows about the entrails of the gnats. 

After a little further conversation between the " Student" and 
" Strepsiades," the latter looks up and sees Socrates suspended in the 
air, in a basket, and exclaims : — 

Hollo ! who's that ? that fellow in the basket ? 

Stud. That's He. 

Streps. Who's He ? 

Stud. 'Tis Socrates. 

Streps. Socrates I 1 

You, sir, call out to him as loud as you can. 

1 Strepsiades roars out; Socrates, wrapt in contemplation, does not hear 
him. The student, afraid to interrupt his meditations, excuses himself by 
suddenly recollecting a press of business, and retires. 



B. C. 425.] ARISTOPHANES. 183 

Stud. Call him yourself : I have not leisure now. 

Streps. Socrates ! Socrates ! 

Sweet Socrates ! 

Socr. Mortal ! why call'st thou me ? 

Streps. 0, first of all, please tell me what you are doing. 

Socr. I walk on air, and contem-plate the Sun. 

Streps. then from a basket you contemn the Gods, 

And not from the earth, at any rate ? 

Socr. Most true. 

I could not have searched out celestial matters 

Without suspending judgment, and infusing 

My subtle spirit with the kindred air. 

If from the ground I were to seek these things, 

I could not find : so surely doth the earth 

Draw to herself the essence of our thought. 

The same too is the case with water-cress. 1 

Streps. Hillo ! what's that ? 

Thought draws the essence into water-cress ? 

Come, down, sweet Socrates, more near my level, 

And teach the lessons which I come to learn. 

Socr. And wherefore art thou come ? 

Streps. To learn to speak. 

For owing to my horrid debts and duns, 

My goods are seized, I'm robbed, and mobbed, and plundered. 

Socr. How did you get involved with your eyes open ? 

Streps. A galloping consumption seized my money. 

Come, now : do let me learn the unjust Logic 

That can shirk debts : now do just let me learn it. 

Name your own price, by all the Gods I'll pay it. 

Socr. Old man, sit you still, and attend to my will, and hearken in 
peace to my prayer. 

Master and King, holding earth in your swing, measureless infi- 
nite Air ; 

And thou, glowing Ether, and Clouds who enwreathe her with thunder, 
and lightning, and storms, 

Arise ye and shine, bright Ladies Divine, to your student in bodily 
forms. 

Streps. No, but stay, no, but stay, just one moment I pray, while my 
cloak round my temples I wrap. 

To think that I've come, stupid fool, from my home, without either 
beaver or cap ! 

1 In Greek x.doS'cifAct (cardama), translated " water-cress." " To hear So- 
crates talk," says Alcibiades in the Symposium of Plato, "appears to a 
superficial observer very ridiculous, for his conversation is all about don- 
keys, and coppersmiths, and cobblers, and tanners : but look deeper, and 
you will find that there is a hidden meaning in all this, a meaning full of 
virtue, piety, and divinity: like the sculptured figures of Silenus, which, 
without, are coarse, and rude, and repulsive, but within, are the images of 
the gods." In what follows, Strepsiades catches at the word x.dpS'x.fj.ci, pro- 
bably the first word he has thoroughly understood, and after displaying his 
utter inability to comprehend such philosophical language, beseeches his 
new master to descend to his level, both in a physical and in an intellectual 
sense. 



184 ARISTOPHANES. [B. C. 425. 

Socr. Come forth, come fortli, dread Clouds, and to earth your glori- 
ous majesty show; 
Whether lightly ye rest on the time-honored crest of Olympus envi- 
roned in snow, 
Or tread the soft dance 'mid the stately expanse of old Ocean, the 

nymphs to beguile, 
Or stoop to enfold with your pitchers of gold, the mystical waves of 

the Nile, 
Or around the white foam of Mseotis ye roam, or Mimas all wintry and 

hare, 
O ! hear while we pray, and turn not away from the rites which your 
servants prepare. 

Chorus. Clouds of all hue, 

Rise we aloft with our garments of clew. 
Come from old Ocean's unchangeable bed, 
Come, till the mountain's green summits we tread, 
Come to the peaks with their landscapes untold, 
Graze on the Earth with her harvests of gold, 
Gaze on the rivers in majesty streaming, 

Gaze on the lordly, invincible Sea, 
Come, for the Eye of the Ether is beaming, 
Come, for all Nature is flashing and free. 
Let us shake off this close-clinging dew 
From our members eternally new, 
And sail upwards the wide world to view. 
Come away! Come away! 
Socr. Goddesses mine, great Clouds and divine, ye have heeded 

and answered my prayer. 
Heard ye their sound, and the thunder around, as it thrilled through 

the petrified air ? 
Streps. Yes, by Zeus, and I shake, and I'm all of a quake, and I fear 

I must sound a reply, 
Their thunders have made my soul so afraid, and those terrible voices 

so nigh : 
Socr. Don't act in our schools like those Comedy-fools with their 

scurrilous scandalous ways. 
Deep silence be thine : while this Cluster divine their soul-stirring 
melody raise. 

Chorus. Come, then, with me, 

Daughters of Mist, to the land of the free. 
Come to the people whom Pallas hath blest, 
Come to the soil where the Mysteries rest : 
Come, where the glorified Temple invites 
The pure to partake of its mystical rites : 
Holy the gifts that are brought to the Gods, 

Shrines with festoons and with garlands are crowned, 
Pilgrims resort to the sacred abodes, 

Gorgeous the festivals all the year round. 
And the Bromian rejoicings in Spring, 
When the flutes with their deep music ring, 
And the sweeny-toned Choruses sing 

Come away ! Come away ! 



B. C. 425.] ARISTOPHANES. 185 

Streps. Socrates, pray, by all tlie Gods, say, for I earnestly long to 

be told, 
Who are these that recite with such grandeur and might ? are they 

glorified mortals of old ? 
Socr. No mortals are there, but Clouds of the air, great Gods who the 

indolent fill : 
These grant us discourse, and logical force, and the art of persuasion 

instil, 
And periphrasis strange, and a power to arrange, and a marvellous 

judgment and skill. 
Streps. So then when I heard their omnipotent word, my spirit felt 

all of a flutter, 
And it yearns to begin subtle cobwebs to spin, and about metaphysics 

to stutter, 
And together to glue an " idea" or two, and battle away in replies : 
So, if it's not wrong, I earnestly long to behold them myself with my 

eyes. 
Socr. Look up in the air, towards Parnes,' out there, for I see they 

will pitch before long 
These regions about. 
Streps. Where, point me them out. 

Socr. They are drifting, an infinite throng, 

And their long shadows quake over valley and brake. 2 
Streps. Why, whatever's the matter to-day ? 

I can't see them a bit. 
Socr. There, they're close by the pit. 
Streps. Ah, T just got a glimpse, by the way. 
*S'ocr. There, now you must see how glorious they be, or your eyes 

must be pumpkins, I vow. 
Streps. Ah ! I see them proceed ; I should think so, indeed ; great 

powers ! they fill everything now. 
Socr. So, then, till this day that celestials were they, you never 

imagined nor knew ? 
Streps. Why, no, on my word, for I always had heard they were 

nothing but vapor and dew. 

1 The clouds are represented as irritated by their discourteous reception, 
and threatening to fly off to the heights of Mount Parnes, the high mountain 
ridge on the north of Attica, from which they had come. 

3 "Aristophanes," says Mr. Ruskin, in his Modern Painters, " knew and 
felt more of the noble landscape character of his country than any whose 
works have come down to us, except Homer. The individuality and dis- 
tinctness of conception," he goes on to say, "the visible cloud character 
which every line of this passage brings out into more dewy and bright ex- 
istence, is to me as refreshing as the real breathing of mountain winds. The 
line cPid t£v hoixoiv y.ct) t£v cfac-lw, cjlvtai 7rXa.yicti, could have been written by 
none but an ardent lover of the hill scenery, one who had watched hour 
after hour the peculiar oblique, sidelong action of descending clouds, as 
they form along the hollows and ravines of the hills. There are no lumpish 
solidities, no billowy protuberances here. All is melting, drifting, evane- 
scent, full of air, and light as dew." 

16* 



1S6 ARISTOPHANES. [b. C. 425. 

Socr. 0, then I declare, you can't be aware that 'tis these who the 

sophists protect, 
Prophets sent beyond sea, quacks of every degree, fops signet-and- 

jewel-bedecked, 
Astrological knaves, and fools who their staves of dithyrambs proudly 

rehearse — 
'Tis the Clouds who all these support at their ease, because they exalt 

them in verse. 1 



A PARABASTS FROM "THE BIRDS. " a 

Ye children of man, whose life is a span, 

Protracted with sorrow from day to day, 

Naked and featherless, feeble and querulous, 

Sickly, calamitous creatures of clay! 

Attend to the words of the sovereign birds 

(Immortal, illustrious lords of the air), 

"Who survey from on high, with a merciful eye, 

Your struggles of misery, labor, and care. 

Whence you may learn, and clearly discern 

Such truths as attract your inquisitive turn ; 

Which is busied of late with a mighty debate, 

A profound speculation about the creation, 

And organical life, and chaotical strife, 

With various notions of heavenly motions, 

And rivers and oceans, and valleys and mountains, 

And sources of fountains, and meteors on high, 

And stars in the sky. We propose, by and by 

(If you'll listen and hear), to make it all clear, 

And Prodicus henceforth shall pass for a dunce, 

When his doubts are explained and expounded at once. 

Before the creation of iEther and Light, 
Chaos and Night together were plight, 
In the dungeon of Erebus foully bedight ; 
Nor Ocean, or Air. or Substance was there, 
Or Solid or Rare, or Figure or Form, 
But horrible Tartarus ruled in the storm. 
At length, in the dreary chaotical closet 
Of Erebus old, was a privy deposit, 
By jSight the primeval in secrecy laid ; 
A mystical egg, that in silence and shade 
Was brooded and hatch'd ; till time came about : 

' This extract is taken from an anonymous translation published in Ox- 
ford, 1852 — a most spirited and faithful version in corresponding metres, and 
conveying the best idea of the original of any I have ever met 'with. The 
Greek motto on the title page is as appropriate as it is beautiful — weuvet 
■AdMdiidL A-xbdLLu: — "to the pure all things are pure." 

9 The Parabasis (a-a^st&w/c, literally " a walking beside," "a digression,"' 
from the plot) was a part of the old comedy in which the Chorus came for- 
ward and addressed the audience in the poet's name, and was in no way 
connected with the main action, as its name imports. 



B. C. 425.] ARISTOPHANES. 187 

And Love, the delightful, in glory flew out, 
In rapture and light, exulting and bright, 
Sparkling and florid, with stars on his forehead, 
His forehead and hair, and a flutter and flare, 
As he rose in the air, triumphantly furnish'd, 
To range his dominions, on glittering pinions, 
And golden and azure, and blooming and burnish'd. 

He soon in the murky Tartarean recesses, 
With a hurricane's might, in his fiery caresses, 
Impregnated Chaos ; and hastily snatch'd 
To being and life, begotten and hatch'd, 
The primitive Birds : But the Deities all, 
The celestial Lights, the terrestrial Ball, 
Were later of birth, with the dwellers on earth, 
More tamely combin'd, of a temperate kind, 
When chaotical mixture approach'd to a fixture. 

Our antiquity prov'd, it remains to be shown, 
That Love is our author and master alone ; 
Like him we can ramble, and gambol, and fly 
O'er ocean and earth, and aloft to the sky: 
And all the world over we're friends to the lover, 
And when other means fail, we are found to prevail, 
When a peacock or pheasant is sent for a present. 

• Frere. 



THE BLESSINGS OF PEACE. 



TRYG7EUS — CHORUS.' 

Try. Ever lovely, ever dear, 
How may I salute thine ear ! 
what size of words may tell 
Half the charms that in thee dwell ! 
In thy sight are joy and pleasure, 
Without stint and without measure. 
In thy breath is all that flings 
Sense and thought of choicest things ; 
Dropping odors — rosy wine — 
Fragrant spike and nard divine. 

Ch. Pipe and lute and dance are there, 
Tragic pomp and stately air : 
With the Sophoclean strain, 
When he's in his noblest vein, 
And the daintier lays that please, 
Falling from Euripides. 

Try. (Interrupting.} Out upon thee ! Fie ! for shame ! 
Vex me not with such a name ! 
Half a pleader — half a bard — 
How may such win her regard ? 

Ch. O she's joy and recreation, . 
Vintage in full operation, 
Vat and cask in requisition, 



133 plato. [b. c 429-347. 

Strainer making inquisition 
For the new-press 'd grape and wiue, 
What is foul and what is fine ! 
Round, meantime, the fleecy brood 
Clamor for their fragrant food ; 
Which by village dame or maid — 
Bosom-laden — is conveyed. 
Thus without ; while all within 
Marks the harvest's jovial din ; 
Hand to hand the goblets flying, 
Or in sweet disorder lying ; 
Serf and master, slave and free ~\ 

Joining in the gladsome glee V 

Of a general jollity. J 

These and thousand blessings more 
Peace hath ever yet in store. 



PLATO. 
429—347 b. c. 



This illustrious philosopher — the brightest name that has come 
down to us from antiquity — was born at Athens in the year 429 B. C. 
By nature he seemed endowed with a genius equally distinguished for 
poetry or philosophy, but by the advice of Socrates he devoted his life 
to the pursuit of the latter. By the rare union of a brilliant imagina- 
tion with a fondness for severe mathematical studies and profound 
metaphysical investigations ; by extensive foreign travel ; by familiar 
intercourse with the most enlightened men of his time, particularly 
Socrates, whose instructive conversations he attended for eight years ; 
as well as by the correspondence which he maintained with the Py- 
thagoreans of Magna Grecia, this great philosopher came to surpass all 
others in the vastness and profoundness of his views, and in the cor- 
rectness and eloquence with which he expressed them ; while his pure 
moral character entitled him to take his place by the side of Socrates 
himself. He founded in the Academia 1 a school of philosophy, which 
for a long period was a nursery of virtuous men and profound thinkers. 

1 An exquisitely beautiful spot in the outer Ceramicus — the suburbs — of 
Athens, adorned with groves, walks, and fountains, and which the name of 
Plato has immortalized. 

"See there the olive grove of Academe. 
Plato's retirement, where the Attic bird 
Trills her thick- warbled notes the summer lonar " 

Par. Reg., iv. 244. 



b. C. 429-347.] plato. 189 

Besides the numbers who crowded to his public instructions, he was 
daily in the society of a chosen few, who sat at his frugal board, and 
listened with enthusiasm to the words of wisdom which flowed so 
eloquently from his lips. He died on his birthday, B. C. 347, at the 
age of eighty-two, his mental powers unimpaired, and whilst employed 
in the very act of writing. 

Plato's works are principally in the form of dialogues, universally 
considered as models of excellence for the rare union of eloquence, poetic 
beauty, and profound philosophic thought. His philosophy may be 
divided into three branches, as he himself suggests and his interpreters 
allow : The first treats of the art of reasoning, or Dialectics ; the second, 
of theoretical questions concerning nature, or Physics ; the third, of prac- 
tical subjects respecting life and manners, or Ethics, which includes 
Politics. He distinguished what is corporeal from the soul, which he 
considered to be an eternal, self-acting agency ; and to him we owe 
the first formal development of the doctrine of its spirituality, and the 
first attempt towards demonstrating its immortality. ' 

Plato defined virtue to be the imitation of God, or the free effort of 
man to attain to a resemblance to his original, or, in other terms, a 
unison and harmony of all our principles and actions according to 
reason, whence results the highest degree of happiness. Evil is 
opposed to this harmony as a disease of the soul. Virtue is one, 
indeed, but compounded of four elements — wisdom, courage, temper- 
ance, and justice. In his practical philosophy he blended a rigid 
principle of moral obligation with a spirit of gentleness and humanity ; 

1 The object of Plato was evidently the noble one of placing before man 
a high intellectual, and consequently, by implication, a high moral standard 
as the end and object of his aspirations : to encourage his efforts after the 
true, the pure, the beautiful, and the virtuous, knowing that the character 
would be purified in the endeavor, and that the consciousness of the progress 
made, step by step, would be of itself a reward. The object of science was, 
as he taught, the true, the eternal, the immutable, that which is : in one 
alone could these attributes be found united — that is God. Man's duty, 
then, according to the Platonic system, is to know God and his attributes, 
and to aim at being under the practical influence of this knowledge. This 
the Christian is taught, but much more simply and plainly, to know God, 
and Jesus Christ whom he hath sent, and to propose to himself a perfect 
standard, to be perfect even as his Father in heaven is perfect, and to look 
forward, by that help which Plato had no warrant to look for, to attain the 
perfect measure of the fulness of Christ. Although Plato believed and 
taught that man ought to strive after and devote himself to the contempla- 
tion of the One, the Eternal, the Infinite, he was humbly conscious that no 
one could attain to the perfection of such knowledge; that it is too wonder- 
ful and excellent for human powers. Man's incapacity for apprehending 
this knowledge he attributed to the soul, during his present state of exist- 
ence, being cramped and confined by its earthly tabernacle. — Browne' s Greek 
Literature. 



190 plato. [b. c. 429-347. 

and education lie described as a liberal cultivation and nioral disci- 
pline of the mind. Politics lie defined to be tlie application, on a great 
scale, of tbe laws of morality ; for a society, being composed of indi- 
viduals, is under similar moral obligations ; and tbe end of politics to 
be liberty and concord. 1 Beauty be considered to be tbe sensible 
representation of moral and physical perfection; consequently it is 
one with truth and goodness, and inspires love, which leads to 
virtue. 2 

Plato's critical acquaintance with all preceding systems, enabled 
him to form more adequate notions of the proper end, extent, and 
character of philosophy, which he defined to be science, properly so 
called, comprehending a knowledge of the universal, the necessary, 
the absolute, as well as of the relations and universal properties of all 
things. The source of knowledge he pronounced to be not the evidence 
of our senses, which are occupied with contingent matter, nor yet the 
understanding, but reason, whose object is that which is invariable and 
absolute. He maintained the existence in the reason of certain innate 
notions (vorjfxara) which form the basis of our conceptions. These 
notions have for their object the ideas (^ea<), the eternal archetypes 
(jra.^ahiyfjt.a'ra) or unities OaovaW), which are the essence of infinite 
things, and the principles to which we refer the endless multiplicity 
of things by means of thought, and which consequently cannot have 
originated from experience, but have been only developed by it. 

Plato distinguished what is corporeal from the soul, which he con- 
sidered to be an eternal, self-acting energy; 3 and to him we owe the 

1 Would that many so-called Christian legislators and Christian people would 
go to this "heathen" philosopher and learn of him — learn that to do right is 
always and ever the highest safety, the highest expediency, the highest 
" conservatism," the highest good! 
3 How beautifully Akenside expresses this : — 

" Thus was beauty sent from heaven, 
The lovely ministress of truth and good, 
In this dark world : for truth and good are oxe, 

AND BEAUTY DWELLS IN TEEM. AHB THEY IS HER, 

With like participation. Wherefore, then, 
sons of earth ! would ye dissolve the tie ? 
wherefore, with a rash, impetuous aim, 
Seek ye those flowery joys with which the hand 
Of lavish fancy paints each flattering scene 
Where beauty seems to dwell, nor once inquire 
Where is the sanction of eternal truth, 
Or where the seal of undeceitful good, 
To save your search from folly ! wanting these, 
Lo ! beauty withers in your void embrace, 
And with the glittering of an idiot's toy 
Did fancy mock your vows.'' 

Pleasures of Imagination, Book 1. 

3 At/To i&uro kivoZv, literally "itself moving itself." 



b. c. 429-347.] tlato. 191 

first formal development of the doctrine of its spirituality, and the first 
attempt towards demonstrating its immortality. 1 He taught that a 
future state would be one of reward and punishment, of communion 
or even union with God, and with the spirits of the illustrious dead, 
to him who is really a philosopher, and who has emancipated himself 
from the fetters of the body. The scene of this happiness he poetically 
lays in the regions of some distant star. To attain this end he be- 
lieved to be in the power of all. Man is free to choose the good and 
the evil. God is the author of nothing but good ; and if man chooses 
the evil instead of the good, he is alone to blame : God is not respon- 
sible. 2 Such is a most meagre sketch of Plato's chief views, to under- 
stand which fully one must devote years of patient study, united to a 
deep love for acute and subtle investigation. 3 



THE PERFECT BEAUTY. 

"He who aspires to love rightly, ought from his earliest 
youth to seek an intercourse with beautiful forms, and first to 
make a single form the object of his love, and therein to gene- 
rate intellectual excellencies. He ought, then, to consider that 
beauty in whatever form it resides is the brother of that beauty 
which subsists in another form : and if he ought to pursue that 
which is beautiful in form, it would be absurd to imagine that 
beauty is not one and the same thing in all forms, and would 
therefore remit much of his ardent preference towards one, 

i Read in the author's "English Literature of the Nineteenth Century," 
some very beautiful and eloquent remarks on Plato, by T. Mitchell, A. M. 

3 The best editions of Plato are those of Bekker, Berlin, 1816-18, eight 
volumes, with the Latin version of Ficinus, a critical commentary, &c, of 
Ast, Leipsic, 1819-27, in eleven volumes, and of G. Stallbaum, Leipsic, twelve 
volumes, "perhaps the best and most useful edition that has appeared." Of 
separate dialogues or collections of dialogues the editions are almost endless. 
There is no good English translation of the whole of Plato : Taylor's is very 
inaccurate : Sydenham was more successful, but he translated only a few of 
the pieces. The student may consult Stanley's History of Philosophy, folio, 
London, 1747 ; Enfield's History of Philosophy, two volumes 8vo. (trans- 
lated and abridged from the German of Brucker) ; Schleiermacher's Intro- 
duction to the Dialogues of Plato, translated by Wm. Dobson ; Plato against 
the Atheists, with notes by Tayler Lewis, LL. D., New York, 1845 ; the Pre- 
liminary Dissertation to Mitchell's Aristophanes; Tennemann's History of 
Philosophy, translated by Johnson and Morell ; a learned and eloquent article 
in the eighty-seventh volume of the Edinburgh Review, in which Taylor's 
translation is noticed with great severity ; and an article of great value on 
the Platonic Philosophy in the second volume of the Bibliotheca Sacra, by 
Rev. T. D. Woolsey, D. D., President of Yale College. 



192 plato. [b. c. 429-347. 

through his perceptiou of the multitude of claims upon his love. 
In addition, he would consider the beauty which is in souls 
more excellent than that which is in form. So that one en- 
dowed with an admirable soul, even though the flower of the 
form were withered, would suffice him as the object of his love 
and care, and the companion with whom he might seek and 
produce such conclusions as tend to the improvement of youth ; 
so that it might be led to observe the beauty and the con- 
formity which there is in the observation of its duties and the 
laws, and to esteem little the mere beauty of the outward form. 
He would then conduct his pupil to science, so that he might 
look upon the loveliness of wisdom ; and that contemplating 
thus the universal beauty, no longer would he unworthily and 
meanly enslave himself to the attractions of one form in love, 
nor one subject of discipline or science, but would turn towards 
the wide ocean of intellectual beauty, and from the sight of the 
lovely and majestic forms which it contains, would abundantly 
bring forth his conceptions in philosophy; until, strengthened 
and confirmed, he should at length steadily contemplate one 
science, which is the science of this universal beauty. 

"Attempt, I entreat you, to mark what I say with as keen 
an observation as you can. He who has been disciplined to 
this point in love, by contemplating beautiful objects gradually, 
and in their order, now arriving at the end of all that concerns 
love, on a sudden beholds a beauty wonderful in its nature. 
This is it, Socrates, for the sake of which all the former 
labors were endured. It is eternal, unproduced, indestructible ; 
neither subject to increase nor decay : not, like other things, 
partly beautiful and partly deformed ; not at one time beautiful 
and at another time not ; not beautiful in relation to one thing 
and deformed in relation to another ; not here beautiful and 
there deformed ; not beautiful in the estimation of one person 
and deformed in that of another ; nor can this supreme beauty 
be figured to the imagination like a beautiful face, or beautiful 
hands, or any portion of the body, nor like any discourse, nor 
any science. Nor does it subsist in any other that lives or is, 
either in earth, or in heaven, or in any other place ; but it is 
eternally uniform and consistent, and monoeidic with itself. 
All other things are beautiful through a participation of it, 
with this condition, that although they are subject to produc- 
tion and decay, it never becomes more or less, or endures any 
change. When any one, ascending from a correct system of 
love, begins to contemplate this supreme beauty, he already 
touches the consummation of his labor. For such as discipline 



b. c. 429-341.] plato. 193 

themselves upon this system, or are conducted by another be- 
ginning to ascend through these transitory objects which are 
beautiful, towards that which is beauty itself, proceeding as on 
steps from the love of one form to that of two, and from that 
of two, to that of all forms which are beautiful ; and from 
beautiful forms to beautiful habits and institutions, and from 
institutions to beautiful doctrines ; until, from the meditation 
of many doctrines, they arrive at that which is nothing else 
than the doctrine of the supreme beauty itself, in the know- 
ledge and contemplation of which at length they repose. 

" Such a life as this, my dear Socrates," exclaimed the 
stranger Prophetess, "spent in the contemplation of the beau- 
tiful, is the life for men to live ; which if you chance ever to 
experience, you will esteem far beyond gold and rich garments, 
and even those lovely persons whom you and many others now 
gaze on with astonishment, and are prepared neither to eat 
nor drink so that you may behold and live forever with these 
objects of your love ! What then shall we imagine to be the 
aspect of the supreme beauty itself, simple, pure, uncontami- 
nated with the intermixture of human flesh and colors, and all 
other idle and unreal shapes attendant ou mortality; the divine, 
the original, the supreme, the monoeidic beautiful itself? What 
must be the life of him who dwells with and gazes on that 
which it becomes us all to seek ? Think you not that to him 
alone is accorded the prerogative of bringing forth, not images 
and shadows of virtue, for he is in contact not with a shadow 
but with reality; with virtue itself, in the production and 
nourishment of which he becomes dear to the gods, and if such 
a privilege is conceded to any human being, himself immortal." 

From the Banquet, as translated by the poet Shelley. 



SOCRATES' VIEWS OF A FUTURE STATE. — HIS DEATH. 1 

"When the dead arrive at the place to which their demon 
leads them severally, first of all they are judged, as well those 

1 The following beautiful and just remarks upon the Apology of Socrates 
are taken from the Preface of the admirable edition of " Plato's Apology 
and Crito," by Prof. W. S. Tyler, of Amherst College : "Such, in substance, 
is the Defence of Socrates. So far from believing that we are indebted to 
the imagination of Plato for the lofty character of Socrates, as he appears in 
this Apology, we cannot but feel that we owe the elevation and eloquence of 
the Apology to the real greatness and heroism of its subject. The form and 
words maybe Plato's; but the substance and spirit must be Socrates' ; and 
we need only to have heard it from his lips to perfect the moral sublime. 
U 



194 plato. [b. c. 429-347. 

who have lived well and piously, as those who have not. And 
those who appear to have passed a middle kind of life, pro- 
ceeding to Acheron, and embarking in the vessels they have, 
on these arrive at the lake, and there dwell, and when they are 
purified, and have suffered punishment for the iniquities they 
may have committed, they are set free, and each receives the 
reward of his good deeds, according to his deserts : but those 
who appear to be incurable, through the magnitude of their 
offences, either from having committed many and great sacri- 
leges, or many unjust and lawless murders, or other similar 
crimes, these a suitable destiny hurls into Tartarus, whence 
they never come forth. But those who appear to have been 
guilty of curable, yet great offences, such as those who through 
anger have committed any violence against father or mother, 
and have lived the remainder of their life in a state of peni- 
tence, or they who have become homicides in a similar manner, 
these must of necessity fall into Tartarus, but after they have 
fallen, and have been there for a year, the wave casts them 
forth, the homicides into Cocytus, but the parricides and ma- 
tricides into Pyriphlegethon : but when, being borne along, 
they arrive at the Acherusian lake, there they cry out to and 
invoke, some those whom they slew, others those whom they 
injured, and invoking them, they entreat and implore them to 
suffer them to go out into the lake, and to receive them, and if 
they persuade them, they go out, and are freed from their suf- 
ferings, but if not, they are borne back to Tartarus, and thence 
again to the rivers, and they do not cease from suffering this 
until they have persuaded those whom they have injured; for 
this sentence was imposed on them by the judges. But those 
who are found to have lived an eminently holy life, these are 
they, who, being freed and set at large from these regions in 
the earth, as from a prison, arrive at the pure abode above, 
and dwell on the upper parts of the earth. And among these, 

Profane literature has nowhere furnished a better delineation of the spiritual 
hero, rising superior to the fear and the favor of man in the strength of his 
own conscious integrity of a serene trust in God. Faith in God, which had 
been the controlling principle of his life, was the power that sustained him 
in view of approaching death, inspired him with more than human fortitude 
in his last days, and invested his dying words with a moral grandeur that 
'has less of earth in it than heaven.' The consciousness of a divine mission 
was the leading trait in his character and the main secret of his power. This 
directed his conversations, shaped his philosophy, imbued his very person, 
and controlled his life. This determined the time and manner of his death. 
And this abiding conviction — this 'ruling passion strong in death,' is the 
very life and breath and all-pervading atmosphere of the Apology."' 



b. c. 429-341.] plato. 195 

they who have sufficiently purified themselves by philosophy 
shall live without bodies, throughout all future time, and shall 
arrive at habitations yet more beautiful than these, which it is 
neither easy to describe, nor at present is there sufficient time 
for the purpose. 

"But for the sake of these things which we have described, 
we should use every endeavor, Simmias, so as to acquire virtue 
and wisdom in this life ; for the reward is noble, and the hope 
great. 

"To affirm positively, indeed, that these things are exactly 
as I have described them, does not become a man of sense; 
that however either this, or something of the kind, takes place 
with respect to our souls and their habitations — since our soul 
is certainly immortal — this appears to me most fitting to be be- 
lieved, and worthy the hazard for one who trusts in its reality; 
for the hazard is noble, and it is right to allure ourselves with 
such things, as with enchantments; for which reason I have 
prolonged my story to such a length. On account of these 
things, then, a man ought to be confident about his soul, who 
during this life has disregarded all the pleasures and ornaments 
of the body as foreign from his nature, and who, having thought 
that they do more harm than good, has zealously applied him- 
self to the acquirement of knowledge, and who having adorned 
his soul not with a foreign but its own proper ornament, tem- 
perance, justice, fortitude, freedom, and truth, thus waits for his 
passage to Hades, as one who is ready to depart whenever 
destiny shall summon him. You then," he continued, "Sim- 
mias and Cebes, and the rest, will each of you depart at some 
future time ; but now destiny summons me, as a tragic writer 
would say, and it is nearly time for me to betake myself to the 
bath ; for it appears to me to be better to drink the poison after 
I have bathed myself, and not to trouble the women with wash- 
ing my dead body." 

When he had thus spoken, Crito said, "So be it, Socrates; 
but what commands have you to give to these or to me, either 
respecting your children, or any other matter, in attending to 
which we cau most oblige you ?" 

"What I always say, Crito," he replied, "nothing new; 
that by taking care of yourselves you will oblige both me and 
mine and yourselves, whatever you do, though you should not 
now promise it; but if you neglect yourselves, and will not live 
as it were in the footsteps of what has been now and formerly 
said, even though you should promise much at present, and 
that earnestly, you will do no good at all." 



196 plato. [b. c. 429-347. 

"We will endeavor then so to do," he said; "but how shall 
we bury you?" 

"Just as you please," he said, "if only you can catch me, 
and I do not escape from you." And at the same time smiling 
gently, and looking round on us, he said, "I cannot persuade 
Crito, my friends, that I am that Socrates who is now conversing 
with you, and who methodizes each part of the discourse; but 
he thinks that I am he whom he will shortly behold dead, and 
asks how he should bury me. But that which I some time since 
argued at length, that when I have drunk the poison I shall no 
longer remain with you, but shall depart to some happy state 
of the blessed, this I seem to have urged to him in vain, though 
I meant at the same time to console both you and myself. Be 
ye then my sureties to Crito," he said, "in an obligation con- 
trary to that which he made to the judges; for he undertook 
that I should remain; but do you be sureties that, when I die, 
I shall not remain, but shall depart, that Crito may more easily 
bear it, and when he sees my body either burnt or buried, may 
not be afflicted for me, as if I suffered some dreadful thing, nor 
say at my interment that Socrates is laid out, or is carried out, 
or is buried. For be well assured," he said, "most excellent 
Crito, that to speak improperly is not only culpable as to the 
thing itself, but likewise occasions some injury to our souls. 
You must have a good courage, then, and say that you bury 
my body, and bury it in such a manner as is pleasing to you, 
and as you think is most agreeable to our laws." 

When he had said thus, he rose, and went into a chamber to 
bathe, and Crito followed him, but he directed us to wait for 
him. We waited, therefore, conversing among ourselves about 
what had been said, and considering it again, and sometimes 
speaking about our calamity, how severe it would be to us, 
sincerely thinking that, like those who are deprived of a father, 
we should pass the rest of our life as orphans. When he had 
bathed, and his children were brought to him, for he had two 
little sons and one grown up, and the women belonging to his 
family were come, having conversed with them in the presence 
of Crito, and given them such injunctions as he wished, he 
directed the women and children to go away, and then returned 
to us. And it was now near sunset; for he spent a considerable 
time within. But when he came from bathing he sat down, and 
did not speak much afterwards. Then the officer of the Eleven 
came in, and standing near him, said, "Socrates, I shall not 
have to find that fault with you that I do with others, that they 
are angry with me, and curse me, when, by order of the archons, 



b. c. 429-347.] plato. 197 

I bid them drink the poison. But you, on all other occasions 
during the time you have been here, I have found to be the 
most noble, meek, and excellent man of all that ever came into 
this place; and, therefore, I am now well convinced that you 
will not be angry with me, for you know who are to blame, but 
with them. Now, then, for you know what I came to announce 
to you, farewell, and endeavor to bear what is inevitable as 
easily as possible." And at the same time, bursting into tears, 
he turned away and withdrew. 

And Socrates, looking after him, said, "And thou, too, fare- 
well ; we will do as you direct." At the same time turning to 
us, he said, "How courteous this man is; during the whole 
time I have been here he has visited me, and conversed with 
me sometimes, and proved the worthiest of men ; and now how 
generously he weeps for me. But come, Crito, let us obey 
him, and let some one bring the poison, if it is ready pounded, 
but if not, let the man pound it." 

Then Crito said, "But I think, Socrates, that the sun is still 
on the mountains, and has not yet set. Besides, I know that 
others have drunk the poison very late, after it had been an- 
nounced to them, and have supped and drunk freely. Do not 
hasten, then, for there is yet time." 

Upon this Socrates replied, "These men whom you mention, 
Crito, do these things with good reason, for they think they 
shall gain by so doing, and I too with good reason shall not 
do so ; for I think I shall gain nothing by drinking a little 
later, except to become ridiculous to myself, in being so fond 
of life, and sparing of it when none any longer remains. Go 
then," he said, "obey, and do not resist." 

Crito having heard this, nodded to the boy that stood near. 
And the boy having gone out, and stayed for some time, came, 
bringing with him the man that was to administer the poison, 
who brought it ready pounded in a cup. And Socrates, on 
seeing the man, said, "Well, ray good friend, as you are skilled 
in these matters, what must I do?" 

"Nothing else," he replied, "than, when you have drunk it, 
walk about until there is a heaviness in your legs, then lie down ; 
thus it will do its purpose." And at the same time he held out 
the cup to Socrates. And he having received it very cheerfully, 
neither trembling, nor changing at all in color or countenance, 
but, as he was wont, looking steadfastly at the man, said, "What 
say you of this potion, with respect to making a libation to 
any one, is it lawful or not?" 

17* 



198 tlato, [b. c. 429-347. 

"We only pound so much, Socrates," he said, "as we think 
sufficient to drink." 

"I understand you," he said, "but it is certainly both lawful 
and right to pray to the gods that rny departure hence thither 
may be happy; which therefore I pray, and so may it be." 
And as he said this he drank it off readily and calmly. Thus 
far, most of us were with difficulty able to restrain ourselves 
from weeping ; but when we saw him drinking, and having 
finished the draught, we could do so no longer; but in spite 
of myself the tears came in full torrent, so that, covering my 
face, I wept for myself, for I did not weep for him, but for my 
own fortune, in being deprived of such a friend. But Crito, 
even before me, when he could not restrain his tears, had risen 
up. But Apollodorus even before this had not ceased weeping, 
and then bursting into an agony of grief, weeping and lament- 
ing, he pierced the heart of every one present, except Socrates 
himself. But he said, "What are you doing, my admirable 
friends ? I indeed, for this reason chiefly, sent away the women, 
that they might not commit any folly of this kind. For I have 
heard that it is right to die with good omens. Be quiet, there- 
fore, and bear up." 

When we heard this we were ashamed, and restrained our 
tears. But he, having walked about, when he said that his 
legs were growing heavy, laid down on his back; for the man 
so directed him. And at the same time he who gave him the 
poison, taking hold of him, after a short interval examined his 
feet and legs; and then having pressed his foot hard, he asked 
if he felt it: he said that he did not. And after this he pressed 
his thighs; and thus going higher, he showed us that he was 
growing cold and stiff. Then Socrates touched himself, and 
said that when the poison reached his heart he should then 
depart. But now the parts around the lower belly were almost 
cold; when, uncovering himself, for he had been covered over, 
lie said, and they were his last words, " Crito, we owe a cock 
to iEsculapius; pay it, therefore, and do not neglect it." 

"It shall be done," said Crito, "but consider whether you 
have anything else to say." 

To this question he gave no reply; but shortly after he gave 
a convulsive movement, and the man covered him, and his eyes 
were fixed; and Crito, perceiving it, closed his mouth and eyes. 

This, Echecrates, was the end of our friend, a man, as we 
may say, the best of all of his time that we have known, and, 
moreover, the most wise and just. 



b. c. 429-34 T.] plato. 199 



CONCLUSION OF PLATO'S GORGIAS. 1 

Now listen to a very beautiful story, which you, I suppose, 
will regard as a fable, but which I deem a genuine account. 
For what I am going to say I shall rehearse to you as being 
true. 

According to a tradition in Homer, the government was 
administered by Jupiter, Neptune, and Pluto, when they had 
received it of the Father. There was formerly in the time of 
Saturn, and always has been, and is yet now, among the gods, 
this law respecting men : that whosoever of mankind has con- 
ducted justly and religiously in life shall depart when he dies to 
the Islands of the Blessed, and dwell in all felicity beyond the 
reach of evils; but whosoever has lived unjustly and impiously 
shall go to the prison of retribution and punishment, called Tar- 
tarus. Now men in the time of Saturn, and yet more recently 
in the reign of Jupiter, received while alive their sentence from 
living judges, and judgment was administered on that very day 
on which they were to die. Of course, the judgments were 
badly administered. Whereupon Pluto and the keepers of the 
Happy Islands went to Jupiter, and told him that men very 
often came to them appointed to each of the two places, not 
according to their deserts. 2 Then Jupiter replied: "I will 
put a stop to these proceedings. The judgments are now 
indeed badly administered. For," said he, "the persons who 
are judged are covered all up when they are judged, since they 
are judged while living. Hence," continued he, "while having 

1 This extract from Plato is justly ranked among the most remarkable pas- 
sages in Greek literature. It presents in a form sufficiently distinct, through 
the fable or myth in which it is conveyed, the idea which the best and most 
enlightened of the Greeks entertained respecting the future state, and shows 
how they derived from the doctrine a motive for living a good life here below. 
It insists that we ought to be more anxious not to do injury than to escape 
injury ourselves. It teaches that a man's supreme care should be, not to 
seem, but to be good, in private and in public j and admonishes us so to live 
in this world as to be accepted when called to our final account. Perhaps we 
see in this passage the utmost limit to which the light of nature has ever con- 
ducted the human mind ; and the coincidence between parts of it and the 
highest Christian precepts is certainly very striking. But Jesus has revealed 
the Father as neither Socrates nor Plato ever saw or could see him, and more 
fully and spiritualty illustrated the Divine law, and brought life and immor- 
tality into brighter light, and by these revelations has supplied immeasurably 
higher motives to a good life. 

Socrates is here addressing Callicles, who is one of the characters of the 
dialogue : the other two are Polus and Gorgias. 

- That is, the bad to the Happy Islands, the good to Tartarus. 



200 plato. [b. c. 429-347. 

depraved souls, they are apparelled in beautiful bodies, and are 
aided by family rank and wealth; and when the judgment takes 
place, many witnesses appear to testify how justly they have 
lived. Of course, the judges are perplexed by these things. 
They themselves, too, are all covered up when they administer 
judgment, having eyes, and ears, and the whole body, spread 
as a veil before their souls. Now all these things, both their 
own coverings and those of the persons judged, are in their 
way. Wherefore," said he, "a stop must be put to their fore- 
seeing death; for now they perceive it beforehand. Accord- 
ingly Prometheus has already been requested to prevent this. 
Next, they must be stripped of all these coverings when they 
are judged. In order to this, it is necessary to judge them 
after death. It is necessary, also, that the judge be in the 
same naked condition, and that he himself also, having died, 
should with the soul itself inspect the very soul of each person 
as soon as he dies and is removed away from his kindred, leav- 
ing behind him on the earth all that former pomp and circum- 
stance, so that the judgment may be just. Having known 
these things, then, already before you came, I have constituted 
my sons the judges — two from Asia, Minos and Rhadamanthus, 
and one from Europe, JEacus. When, therefore, these shall 
have died, they shall sit in judgment in the grassy plain, where 
three roads meet, two of which lead away — one to the Islands 
of the Blessed, the other to Tartarus. Those from Asia Rha- 
damanthus shall judge; those from Europe, JEacus. To Minos 
I will give the rights of seniority, to rejudge any decision of 
the other two which may admit of doubt, in order that the sen- 
tence respecting the road for men to take may be most just." 

These, Callicles, are matters which I, having heard, believe 
to be true ; and I draw from them the following conclusions. 
Death, as it appears to me, is nothing but the unloosing of 
two things, the soul and the body, from one another. When 
they have become unloosed, each of them has about the same 
habitude and condition which it had when the person was 
living; and its nature, and culture, and whatever it has suffered, 
are all apparent. As, for instance, if the body of any person 
while living was large by nature, or by training, or by both, 
the same person's dead body is large after he has died; and if 
fat, the dead person's is also fat, and so in other respects. If 
a person adopted the custom of wearing long hair, the same 
person's dead body has the hair long. If a person has been 
punished with scourging, and has borne on his body the marks 
of blows — scars, whether from the lash or anv other instru- 



b. c. 429-341.] plato. 201 

ment — you can see that the dead person's body has the same. 
And if the limbs of any person living were maimed or distorted, 
these have the same appearance after death. In a word, such 
as any one had trained himself to be in body, while he was 
living, the same, either entirely or in greater part, does he 
continue to be for a considerable time after the person is dead. 

Now this same principle seems to me to hold good of the 
soul, Callicles. After the soul has been stripped of the body, 
all things become manifest in it — its natural endowments, and 
the passions which the individual has acquired by every prac- 
tice he has pursued. When, therefore, they come into the 
presence of the judge — those from Asia, for example, before 
Rhadamanthus — Rhadamanthus, placing them near, inspects 
the soul of every one, not knowing whose it is ; but if, upon 
laying hold of some great king, or any other king or ruler 
whatsoever, he discovers nothing at all sound in the soul, but 
perceives that it has been scourged, and is full of scars which 
perjuries and injustice have made, and which the deeds them- 
selves imprinted on each one's soul, and that all has become 
distorted by lying and boasting, and nothing is straight because 
the soul has been trained up without truth — that, in short, it 
is destitute of symmetry and full of turpitude, through power, 
and luxury, and pride, and intemperance — he sends this soul 
away forthwith in ignominy into imprisonment, where it will 
endure the requisite sufferings. Now it is necessary that every 
one who is visited with just punishment should either derive 
advantage from it and grow better, or furnish an example to 
others, so that others, beholding him suffer, may through fear 
of what he suffers grow better. Some are really benefited by 
undergoing punishment both from gods and men. They are 
those who commit remediable offences. Through their griefs 
and pains a benefit arises to them both here and in Hades. 
Nor can they free themselves from unrighteousness in any other 
way. But those who do wrong to the very last degree, and 
by such acts of injustice become incurable, are set forth for an 
example. They themselves are benefited no more, because they 
are incurable ; but others receive benefit from beholding them 
suffer the greatest and most excruciating and terrible tortures, 
forever and ever, being held up there in Hades altogether as 
examples — a perpetual spectacle and admonition to those of 
the unrighteous who come thither. 

Of whom I assert that Archelaus also will be one (if Pol us 1 

1 Polus had mentioned Archelaus as a prince who was fortunate and happy, 
although he was cruel and unjust. 



202 plato. [b. c. 429-341. 

tells the truth), and any other tyrant of a similar character. 
Indeed, it is my opinion that the most numerous class of these 
examples will consist of tyrants, and kings, and lords, and ad- 
ministrators of civil affairs. For it is by abuse of power that 
they commit the greatest and most impious crimes. Homer 
also bears testimony to these facts. For those in Hades whom 
he hath set forth as suffering eternal torment, Tantalus, Sisy- 
phus, and Tityus, were kings and rulers. But Thersites, or 
any other private individual of bad character, has never been 
set forth as suffering severe punishments and in an incurable 
condition, for I think he had not the opportunity of incurring 
such a fate, and on this account he was more fortunate than 
those who had. Most surely, Callicles, it is to the ranks of 
the powerful that the most depraved men belong. Nothing, 
however, renders it impossible that there should be good men 
also among them ; and when there are such, it is worthy of 
special note. For it is difficult, and most praiseworthy, for 
men who have great opportunity of doing injustice to live 
justly. Of this class there are a few. There have been both 
here and elsewhere, and I think will still be, honorable and 
good men, who possess the virtue to execute justly whatever is 
committed to them. And one has become even very illustrious 
among his Greek countrymen — I mean Aristides, the son of 
Lysimachus. But the greater portion of those in power, my 
excellent friend, are bad. Accordingly, as I said before, when 
Rhadamanthus takes any such person in hand, he perceives 
nothing else about him — neither who he is, nor of what origin — 
but only that he is bad ; and on perceiving this, first putting a 
mark upon him to denote whether he seems to be curable or 
incurable, he sends him away to Tartarus; to which place 
coming, he suffers due punishment. But sometimes beholding 
another soul that has lived religiously and according to truth, 
the soul of some private or other man — and especially, let me 
say, Callicles, of some philosopher who has minded his own 
business in life, and meddled with no one's else — he is very 
much pleased, and sends him away to the Islands of the Blessed. 
The same course JEacus also pursues. Each holds a sceptre 
while he judges. Minos sits considering apart by himself, hold- 
ing a golden sceptre, as Homer's Ulysses says he saw him — 

"A golden sceptre holding, administering laws to the dead." 

I therefore, Callicles, have been influenced by these facts, 
and have considered how I may exhibit to the judge a soul 
in the soundest state possible. Relinquishing, therefore, the 



b. c. 429-34?.] plato. 203 

honors which the many pursue, I shall sincerely endeavor, by 
contemplating the truth, to live the best life, and, when I die, 
to die the best death. And I exhort all other men, as far as I 
am able, and especially do I in turn 1 exhort you, to adopt this 
mode of life, and this contest, which I say is preferable to all 
the contests of the world. And I utter it as a reproach against 
you, that, when you shall meet the judgment and condemnation 
of which I just now spoke, you will not be able to help your- 
self; but coming into the presence of the judge, the son of 
JEgina, 2 when he takes hold of you and leads yon forward, yon 
will stammer and grow confused there, no less than I here, and 
perhaps some one will give you a disgraceful blow on the side 
of the head, and treat you with every species of indignity. 3 

Perhaps these things sound to you like an old woman's story, 
and you despise them. And it would not be wrong to despise 
them, if we had any means of finding something better and 
more true. But you now see that you three together, who are 
the wisest of the Greeks — you, and Polus, and Gorgias — have 
not the means of showing how we can better live any other life 
here than that which appears expedient there. But after so 
much discussion, other things having been refuted, this position 
remains unshaken — that we ought to shun doing injury more 
than the receiving of an injury, and that a man should make it 
his supreme care not to seem to be good, but to he good, both 
in private and in public. If, however, one becomes bad in 
anything, he should be punished, and the next good thing to 
being just is to become just by means of the punishment. All 
flattery, too, both of one's self and of others, and whether of 
few or many, is to be avoided. And the rhetorical art, and 
every other practice, we ought to make use of always for the 
right. 

Be influenced by me, therefore, and follow on in that path 
in which you will be happy both living and dying, as the dis- 
cussion shows. Suffer any one to despise you as stupid, and 
to abuse you, if he pleases. Nay, by Jove, do you cheerfully 
be struck with this disgraceful blow, for you will suffer nothing 
dreadful, if you are truly honorable and good, and practise 

1 Callicles had exhorted Socrates to quit philosophy and attend to rhetoric 
and politics. 

3 That is, JEacus. 

3 The point of this will be felt by considering that Callicles had used this 
same language to describe Socrates' condition before a human tribunal, un- 
der some unjust accusation, against which he would not know how to defend 
himself. 



204 lysias. [b. c. 458-3*75. 

virtue. After having thus practised it together, then, indeed, 
if it seem best, we will devote ourselves to political matters, or 
whatever else may suit us. Then will we act as counsellors, 
being better able to give counsel than we are now. For it is 
highly discreditable to us, with no more than our present attain- 
ments, immediately to begin dogmatizing as though we were 
something, when the same things appear to us to be always 
changing their aspects, and these things too of the greatest 
moment — to such a pitch of ignorance are we come! Let us, 
therefore, use the conclusion now clearly established as a guide ; 
for it shows us that the best way of life is this — to live and 
die in the practice of justice and of every other virtue. This, 
therefore, let us pursue, and exhort others to pursue it, rather 
than that which you believe, and to which you exhort me. 
For that, Callicles, is of no account. 



LYSIAS. 

458—375 b. c. 



Lysias, the first in chronological order of those Greek orators whose 
writings have been handed down to us, was born in Athens B. C. 458. 
At an early period of his life he went, in company with Herodotus, with 
a colony to Thulium (in Magna Grecia, the southern part of Italy), and 
there remained till 411 B. C, and studied rhetoric under Tisias and 
Nicius. When the disastrous defeat of the Athenians occurred in Sicily, 
he, with other colonists, was exiled from Thurium, and returned to 
Athens, but suffered much from the tyranny of the "thirty tyrants," 
being imprisoned and exiled to Megara. When, however, Thrasybu- 
lus' and his noble compeers succeeded in overthrowing the hateful 
oligarchy, 2 Lysias returned to his native city, and lived there till his 
death, which took place at the advanced age of eighty-three years. 

1 Spirit of Freedom, when on Phyle's brow 
Thou sat'st with Thrasybulus and his train, 
Couldst thou forebode the dismal hour which now 
Dims the green beauties of thine Attic plain ? 
Wot thirty tyrants now enforce the chain, 

But every carle can lord it o'er thy land ; 
Nor rise thy sons, but idly rail in vain, 

Trembling beneath the scourge of Turkish hand, 
From birth till death enslaved ; in word, in deed unmanned ! 
Childe Harold, Canto 2d, Verse LXXIV., written in 1812, wtifen Greece 
was enslaved by the Turks. 

5 Lysias sacrificed all his remaining fortune to aid the patriots. 



r 



b. c. 458-3T5.] lysias. 205 

Of the two hundred and thirty orations attributed to Lysias, but 
thirty -five are extant, and even among these some are incomplete, and 
a few are thought to be spurious. All his orations were written for 
his clients, with the exception of that against Eratosthenes (one of the 
thirty tyrants), which he himself delivered, and most of these are of 
a private rather than a political nature. His style is a model of 
purity, and may be considered as the best specimen of the Attic idiom : 
his language is natural and simple, and at the same time noble and 
dignified, and his delineations of character are always striking and 
true to life. No orator has commanded greater admiration from the 
ancients, who have in turn attributed to him all the principal quali- 
fications of an accomplished writer. Dionysius praises him for his 
grace, Cicero for subtlety, and Quintilian for truthfulness ; and the 
study of his speeches will show that, for elegance, precision, and purity, 
he has been unequalled by any orator except Isocrates. 1 



THE BATTLE OF SALAMIS. 3 

Having transported their wives, children, and aged parents 
into Salamis, the Athenians there collected the ships of their 
allies, and patiently waited the arrival of the Persian fleet. 
Soon after appeared these formidable squadrons, in number so 
immense, that who would not have trembled at their approach? 
Yet these our ancestors opposed for the general safety ! What 
were the feelings of those who saw them embark ? What did 
they themselves feel when they considered the prizes laid up in 
the isle of Salamis ? Their destruction, from the infinite supe- 
riority of the enemy's numbers, appeared inevitable : but the 
fate of their wives, and children, and parents, was an object of 
the crudest anxiety: for what humiliating insults might not 
these expect to suffer from triumphant Barbarians ? Surely, 
in their present situation the Athenians often embraced, and 
joined right hands ; they probably lamented their condition, 
when they compared the strength of the Barbarians with their 
own ; and when no one circumstance could afford them relief. 



1 Among the best editions of Lysias are those of J. Taylor, with a full 
critical apparatus and emendations by Markland ; and of J. Franz, Munich, 
1831. Consult also "Orations of Lysias and Isocrates, translated, &c, by 
John Gillies, LL. D.," a work of great learning. Read also an admirable 
article in the 29th vol. of the Quarterly Review (London), entitled "Legal 
Oratory of Greece." 

2 From the Funeral Oration in praise of the Athenian citizens who fell in 
battle. 

18 



206 lysias. [b. c. 458-3*75. 

Their city was deserted, their temples burnt or demolished, 
their country laid waste, and every new form of calamity and 
disgrace awaited their kindred and themselves. But when they 
heard the mingled paeans of Greeks and Persians, the exhorta- 
tions on both sides, the cries of the dying, and saw the sea 
teeming with the dead, many ships on both sides shattered or 
sunk, the battle long doubtful, now thinking they were victo- 
rious and now that they were overcome, torn between hope and 
fear, their imaginations presenting many objects they did not 
see, their minds terrified with sounds they did not hear — how 
many were their prayers to the gods ? How often did they 
mention their sacrifices ? How great was the pity for their 
children, the anxiety for their wives, their compassion for their 
parents? How dreadful were the presages of their future 
calamities? What god so cruel as not to commiserate them! 
What mortal so insensible as not to lament them ! What heart 
so base as not to admire their virtue! For surely, by the vigor 
both of their councils and actions they distinguished themselves 
above the weakness of humanity; abandoning their city, em- 
barking in their galleys, exposing their persons, few in number, 
against the millions of Asia. Their victory is the fairest monu- 
ment of liberty, and proves that an handful of freemen con- 
tending for their rights, is more powerful than an host of slaves, 
laboring with infamy to infringe them. 



THE ADMINISTRATION OF THE THIRTY TYRANTS. 1 

It is an easy matter, Athenians! to begin this accusation ; 
but to end it without doing injustice to the cause, will be at- 
tended with no small difficulty. For the crimes of Eratosthe- 
nes are not only too atrocious to describe, but too many to 
enumerate. No exaggeration can exceed, and within the time 
assigned for this discourse, it is impossible fully to represent 
them. 

This trial, too, is attended with another singularity. In 
other causes, it is usual to ask the accusers, "What is your 
resentment against the defendants ?" But here you must ask 
the defendants, "What was your resentment against your 
country ? What malice did you bear your fellow-citizens ? 
Why did you rage with unbridled fury against the State it- 
self?" * * 

1 From his oration on " An Indictment against Eratosthenes," that one of 
the Thirty who had been the means of murdering the orator's own brother. 



b. c. 458-315.] lysias. 207 

By this cause the attention of mankind has been excited; the 
citizens and strangers now present are big with expectation ; 
and the fate of Eratosthenes alone must discover your senti- 
ments of the whole cabal. Now is the time to teach your 
citizens, that their crimes will either meet with immediate 
punishment, or, though this should for a short time be deferred, 
and their ambition be crowned with success by the acquisition 
of sovereign power, that justice will still pursue and overtake 
them, deprive them of their usurped pre-eminence, and confound 
them with the meanest criminals. Now is the time to justify be^ 
fore strangers, the expulsion of your tyrants ; for, if they per- 
ceive that, after getting them into your power, you still allow 
them to escape unpunished, they will have reason to deem their 
own activity in promoting your deliverance, equally officious 
and vain. * * 

The time is now indeed come, Athenians, when, insensible 
to pity and tenderness, you must be armed with just severity 
against Eratosthenes and his associates. What avails it to 
have conquered them in the field, if you be overcome by them 
in your councils ? Do not show them more favor for what 
they boast they will perform, than resentment for what they 
have already committed; nor, after being at so much pains to 
become master of their persons, allow them to escape without 
suffering that punishment which you once sought to inflict, but 
prove yourselves worthy of that good fortune which has given 
you power over your enemies. The contest is very unequal 
between Eratosthenes and you : formerly, he was both judge 
and accuser; but we, even while we accuse, must at the same 
time make our defence. Those who were innocent, he put to 
death without trial; to them who are guilty, we allow the 
benefit of law, even though no adequate punishment can ever 
be inflicted. For should we sacrifice them and their children, 
would this compensate for the murder of your fathers, your 
sons, and your brothers ? Should we deprive them of their 
property, could this indemnify the individuals whom they have 
beggared, or the State which they have plundered ? Though 
they cannot suffer a punishment adequate to their demerit, they 
ought not surely on this account to escape. Yet, how match- 
less is the effrontery of Eratosthenes, who, being now judged 
by the very persons whom he formerly injured, still ventures to 
make his defence before the witnesses of his crimes ? What 
can show more evidently the contempt in which he holds you, 
or the confidence which he reposes in others. * * 

Let me now conclude with laying before you the miseries to 



208 lysias. [b. c. 458-375. 

which you were reduced, that you may see the necessity of tak- 
ing punishment on the authors of them. And first, you who 
remained in the city, consider the severity of their govern- 
ment ; l you were reduced into such a situation as to be obliged 
to carry on a war, in which, if you were conquered, you par- 
took, indeed, of the same liberty with the conquerors ; but if 
you proved victorious, you remained under the slavery of your 
magistrates. Consider that, while they enriched their private 
families, they beggared you by a civil war, from which you had 
no advantages to expect, as you could participate with them 
only in their disgrace. As to you of the Piraeus, you will re- 
member that, though you never lost your arms in the battles 
which you fought, or in the lands which you traversed, yet you 
suffered by these men what your foreign enemies could never 
accomplish ; and at home, in time of peace, were disarmed by 
your fellow-citizens. By them you were banished from the 
country left you by your fathers. Their rage,, knowing no 
abatement, pursued you abroad, and drove you from one terri- 
tory to another. Recall the same resentment which you then 
felt. Remember the cruel indignities which you suffered ; how 
you were dragged from the tribunal and the altars ; how no 
place, however sacred, could shelter you against their violence ! 
while others, torn from their wives, their children, their pa- 
rents, after putting a period to their miserable lives, were de- 
prived of funeral rites. For these tyrants imagined their 
government to be so firmly established, that even the vengeance 
of the gods was unable to shake it. 

But you who escaped immediate death, who fled, you knew 
not whither, no asylum affording you protection ; everywhere 
taking refuge, yet everywhere abandoned ; who, leaving your 
children among strangers or enemies, and destitute of all the 
necessaries of life, made your way to the Piraeus, where, over- 
coming all opposition, you showed the triumph of virtue over 
numbers and force, regained the city for yourselves, and free- 
dom for your countrymen — What must have been your situation 
had you proved unfortunate in the engagement? Again com- 
pelled to fly, no temples, no altars could have saved you. The 
children who accompanied you would have been reduced into 
the vilest servitude ; those whom you left behind, deprived of 
all help, would, at a mean price, have been sold to your ene- 
mies. But why should I mention what might have happened, 
not being able to relate what was actually done? For it is 

1 The government of the Thirty. 



b. c. 458-375.] lystas. 209 

impossible for one man, or in the course of one trial, to enu- 
merate the means which were employed to undermine the 
power of this state ; the arsenals which were demolished, the 
temples sold or profaned, the citizens banished or murdered, 
and whose dead bodies were impiously left uninterred. Those 
citizens now watch your decree, uncertain whether you will 
prove accomplices in their death, or avengers of their murder. 
You have heard — you have seen — you have suffered — and in 
consequence pass your decree. 



AN HONORABLE DEATH PREFERABLE TO AN INGLORIOUS LIFE. 

It becomes us, Athenians, to honor the dead, and to lament 
the living. For what pleasure, what consolation remains to 
them ? They are deprived of those who love them, but who, 
preferring virtue to every connection, have left them fatherless, 
widowed, and forlorn. Of all their relations, the children, too 
young to feel their loss, are least to be lamented ; but most of 
all the parents, who are too old ever to forget it. They nour- 
ished and brought up children to be the comforts of their age, 
but of these, in the decline of life, they are deprived, and with 
them of all their hopes. We shall best honor the dead, then, 
by extending our protection to the living. We must assist 
and defend their widows, protect and honor their parents, em- 
brace and cherish their orphans. Who deserve more honor 
than the dead ? Who are entitled to more sympathy than 
their kindred ? 

But wherefore this sorrow ? A*") we ignorant of our common 
fate? Why bear with impatience what we have ever expected ? 
Why revolt against the law of necessity, since death is equal to 
the hero and to the coward, neither overlooking the villain in 
contempt, nor sparing, in admiration of his character, the man 
of highest virtue ? If those who escape the dangers of war 
could also escape death, the tide of your sorrows ought ever to 
flow. But since human nature must yield to age and disease, 
and the divinity that presides over our fate is inexorable, those 
are to be reckoned of all men most happy, who, not committing 
themselves to fortune, or waiting the uncertain approaches of 
a natural death, choose and embrace that which is most glori- 
ous. Dying for whatever is most respectable among men, their 
memories never fade, their honors ever bloom, their actions 
remain perpetual objects of emulation and praise, and though 
lamented as mortal by nature, tbey are celebrated as immortal 

18* 



210 isocrates. [b. c. 436-338. 

through virtue. They are buried at the public expense, and 
contests of strength, wisdom, and magnificence are appointed 
in honor of them and the gods. For my part, I account them 
most happy ; I envy them their death. Those men alone are 
gainers by their birth, who, though their bodies be mortal, have 
acquired immortal renown. But, according to established prac- 
tice, and the laws of our ancestors, we must mourn for the 
persons here buried. 



ISOCRATES. 1 
436—338 b. c. 



Isocrates was born at Athens, five years before the Peloponnesian 
War. His father, Theodoras, was a manufacturer of musical instru- 
ments, and though not wealthy, he gave his son such a liberal educa- 
tion, under the direction and instruction of Grorgias and Prodicus, as 
awakened in his mind an early love of literature, so that he devoted 
his life to the cultivation of rhetoric and philosophy. From his diffi- 
dence and the weakness of his voice he rarely or never spoke in public ; 
but he acquired great honor by giving instruction in eloquence, and 
thereby contributed largely to the perfection of the art. He opened a 
school of rhetoric in Athens, and met with so much success that the 
number of his pupils soon increased to one hundred, each of whom 
paid him 1000 drachma?, about two hundred dollars. More than any 
other rhetoricians, he encouraged attention to the harmony of language, 
wherein lies the chief excellence of his own discourses, which are 
distinguished rather for accuracy and polish than native ardor and 
warmth. His language is the purest and most refined Attic dialect, 
forming quite a contrast to the native simplicity of Lysias, and a still 
greater, to the nervous strength and sublime power of Demosthenes. 
Indeed, his sentences flow so melodiously, that they become somewhat 
wearisome and monotonous by the perpetual occurrence of the same 
artificial and over-refined periods. 

1 The best modern editions of Isocrates are those of W. Lange, Halle, 8vo., 
1804; and of Q. S. Dobson, London, 1828, 2 vols. Svo., with a Latin trans- 
lation, and copious notes. There are also many good editions of select 
orations as well as of separate orations. The best edition of the Panegyricus 
is by G-. Dindorf, Leipsic, 1826. The English translation by Dr. Gillies, with 
copious notes, is a very learned and valuable work. 



b. c. 436-338.] isocrates. 211 

Isocrates lived to the advanced age of ninety-eight, having died 
then, it is said, by voluntary starvation in grief for the fatal battle of 
Chaeronea; 1 so that there is hardly on record a life so long and so 
entirely literary from early manhood to extreme old age. There were 
about sixty orations attributed to him, of which twenty-one are extant. 
Of these, the most finished is the " Panegyric" (nctnyvpixos) , a discourse 
delivered before the assembled people at the Olympic games, addressed 
indeed to all the Greeks, yet exalting the Athenians as entitled to the 
first rank among the States. One of his orations, written for the use 
of Nicocles, King of Salamis in Cyprus, is said to have procured from 
the prince in return a present of twenty talents. 2 



PHYSICAL CONTRASTED WITH MENTAL POWER. 

I have always thought it remarkable that the lawgivers who 
instituted our public games, and established our general assem- 
blies, should have appointed prizes of no small value for the 
combatants who excel in feats of bodily strength and address, 
while they allowed the talents of men of genius to languish 
without encouragement. Yet if the qualities most beneficial 
to others be the best entitled to their regard, the accomplish- 
ments of the mind ought to be preferred before all other ad- 
vantages. The wrestler may increase his own activity, the 
racer may redouble his speed, but neither of them can transfer 
any share of those excellencies to another ; for the powers of 
the body can never be communicated ; but the wisdom of the 
sage diffuses itself through the whole society; his writings carry 
light and improvement everywhere along with them, and all 
who have minds open to receive his instructions may reap from 
them, not only the purest pleasure, but the most solid advan- 
tage. The little encouragement, therefore, that is given to 
literary pursuits will never determine me to abandon them ; for 
me their intrinsic worth will always have sufficient charms ; and 
the glory of pronouncing a discourse by which all Greece may 
be benefited, will supply the place of every other reward, and 
fully requite my labors. 



that dishonest victory 



At Chaeronea, fatal to liberty, 

Kill'd with report that old man eloquent. 

2 The silver talent was a little more than one thousand dollars. 



212 isocrates. [b. c. 436-338. 



THE POWER OF ELOQUENCE. 

In other countries of Greece the assemblies continue but for 
a short time, and meet by distant intervals. But Athens is a 
constant assembly to all who choose to frequent it ; Athens 
also is the seat of philosophy, which hath contrived and esta- 
blished all those institutions which have softened our manners, 
and regulated our conduct; and which, by teaching us to dis- 
tinguish between evils brought upon us by imprudence, and 
those inflicted by necessity, hath enabled us to ward off the 
one, and to bear the other honorably. Athens likewise is the 
theatre of eloquence, a talent which all men are ambitious to 
acquire, and which excites so much envy against those who 
actually possess it. She has ever been sensible that speech is 
the original characteristic of human nature, and that it is by 
the employment of it alone we acquire all those powers which 
distinguish us from other animals. She has ever been sensible 
that fortune might disturb the order of events, confound the 
designs of the wise, and give success to the rash attempts of 
folly and inexperience ; but that the art of speaking with ele- 
gance and force was superior even to fortune, and could never 
be acquired but by men of judgment and ability; that eloquence 
formed the true distinction between the rustic and the sage ; 
that it was neither by their valor, their riches, nor any such 
advantages, but by their eloquence alone, that those who had 
received a liberal education rendered themselves conspicuous ; 
that this was the surest test of the manner in which each of us 
had been educated ; that it was by eloquence, in fine, we not 
only acquired an irresistible influence over those among whom 
we lived, but diffused our reputation and extended our power 
over countries the most remote from us. In eloquence and 
philosophy, therefore, Athens so far excels all other nations, 
that those who are considered as novices at home, become 
masters elsewhere ; that the name of Greek is not employed to 
denote the inhabitant of a particular country, but rather the 
talents for which the men of that country are distinguished; 
and that this appellation is more frequently bestowed on such 
as are acquainted with our literature, than on those who were 
born in our territories. 



b. c. 436-338.] isocrates. 213 



WAR AGAINST PERSIA. 

The principles by which our ancestors regulated their be- 
havior they were careful to infuse into their children ; who 
afterwards so illustriously displayed their effects in the war 
against Asia, and whose exploits neither orators nor poets 
have celebrated in any measure equal to their merit. The 
defect indeed is excusable ; for it is as difficult to praise those 
whose virtue transcends humanity, as those whose actions fall 
below it : in the one case we want a subject, and in the other 
we want expressions. For how shall we celebrate the men 
who are so far superior to the conquerors of Troy, that whereas 
the latter employed ten years in besieging one city, the former, 
in a far shorter time, triumphed over the united force of Asia; 
and not only preserved the independence of their native coun- 
try, but delivered Greece from subjection ? What enterprises, 
what labors, what dangers would they decline, in order to ac- 
quire honor during their lives, who so nobly died to purchase 
glory to their memories ? Fo? my own part, I am convinced 
that some god raised up that war in admiration of their vir- 
tues ; unwilling that such men should languish in obscurity, or 
die without renown, he gave them an occasion to display the 
illustrious merit which they possessed, and to enroll their names 
with ancient heroes, benefactors of mankind, the immediate 
offspring of the gods. Like these, they rendered up their 
lives according to the law of nature and necessity; but like 
these, too, they left behind them the immortal memory of their 
virtues. 



THE SUPERIORITY OP ATHENS TO THE REST OP GREECE. 

You ought not, Athenians, to be satisfied with yourselves 
till you become more worthy of your ancestors ; for it is their 
virtue, and not the worthlessness of tyrants, that you ought to 
place before your eyes, and make the object of your emulation; 
especially as it becomes Athenians to distinguish themselves 
above all the rest of mankind. This is not the first time, nor 
is this the only assembly, in which I have maintained such an 
opinion ; I have on many occasions insisted on it ; for I am 
persuaded, that as there are particular countries famed for the 
production of certain plants and animals, so Attica has reared 



214 is^eus. [b. c. 360. 

men superior to all others, not only in the arts of civil life, but 
in martial bravery and conduct, and in all the virtues of the 
mind. We have no slight proof of it in their ancient victories 
over the Amazons, and the inhabitants of Thrace and Pelopon- 
nesus. The late wars against the Persians bear an evidence 
still more convincing. In these, both when alone and when 
attended with allies,- both by land and sea, they overcame the 
Barbarians, and carried off the first prizes of valor. But this 
panegyric does not belong to you ; for the praise of great men 
is a satire on the descendants who disgrace them. To say the 
truth, we have acted in a manner most uuworthy our noble 
origin ; we have abandoned the peculiar dignity of the Athe- 
nian character ; and have fallen victims to licentiousness, igno- 
rance, sloth, and every disorder of the mind. This is a digression 
from my present subject, but it is a topic on which I have often 
iusisted, and on which I will still continue to insist, while you 
compel me to so disagreeable a task. 

Oration on Reforming the Government of Athens. 



ISiEUS. 

FLOURISHED ABOUT 360 B. g. 

But little is known respecting the private life of Isseus ; though he 
has the honor of having been the instructor of Demosthenes. Out of 
about fifty orations attributed to him, but eleven have come down to 
us, and these mostly are on subjects of disputed inheritances, and are 
not very interesting. He has a pure, perspicuous, refined diction, and 
the use of interrogatory sentences gives to his speeches an animation 
and vehemence which give the reader of Demosthenes so much plea- 
sure. ' "We will give a short extract from one of his speeches to give 
some idea of his style. It is from the " Speech on the Estate of Dicaeo- 
genes," of whose estate a cousin of the same name took possession, 
having produced a forged will. 

1 The edition of Isseus published at Leipsic. 1773, with Reiske's and Tay- 
lor's notes, is an excellent one. Also, one by G. F. Schbmann, with critical 
notes and a commentary, Greifswold, 1831. Sir Win. Jones has translated 
the orations, with a prefatory discourse, notes critical, historical, &c, ac- 
companied by a valuable commentary. It may be found in the fourth volume 
of the quarto edition of his works. 



b. c. 360.] i&eus. 215 



THE ESTATE OF DIC^EOGENES. 

In this manner, DicaBOgenes, lmst thou unjustly seized and 
shamefully wasted the estate of thy cousin ; and, having con- 
verted it into money, hast the assurance to complain of poverty. 
How hast thou spent that money ? Not for the use of the 
estate, or of your friends ; since it is apparent that no part of 
it has been employed for those purposes : not in breeding fine 
horses ; for thou never wast in possession of a horse worth 
more than three minas : not in chariots ; for, with so many 
farms and so great a fortune, thou never hadst a single carriage 
even drawn by mules : nor hast thou redeemed any citizen from 
captivity ; nor hast thou conveyed to the citadel those statues, 
which Menexenus had ordered to be made for the price of three 
talents, but was prevented by his death from consecrating in 
the temple ; and, through thy avarice, they lie to this day in 
the shop of the statuary; thus hast thou presumed to claim an 
estate, to which thou hadst no color of right, and hast not 
restored to the gods the statues, which were truly their own. 
On what ground, Dicseogenes, canst thou ask the jury to give 
a sentence in thy favor ? Is it because thou hast frequently 
served the public offices ; expended large sums of money to 
make the city more respectable, and greatly benefited the state 
by contributing bountifully towards supporting the war? No- 
thing of this sort can be alleged with truth. Is it because 
thou art a valiant soldier ? But thou never once couldst be 
persuaded to serve in so violent and so formidable a war, in 
which even the Olynthians and the islanders lose their lives 
with eagerness, since they fight for this country; while thou, 
who art a citizen, wouldst never take arms for the city. 

Perhaps, the dignity of thy ancestors, who slew the tyrant, 
emboldens thee to triumph over us : as for them, indeed, I 
honor and applaud them, but cannot think that a spark of their 
virtue animates thy bosom ; for thou hast preferred the plunder 
of our inheritance to the glory of being their descendant, and 
wouldst rather be called the son of Dicseogenes than of Har- 
modius ; not regarding the right of being entertained in the 
Prytaneum, nor setting any value on the precedence and im- 
munities which the posterity of those heroes enjoy : yet it was 
not for noble birth, that Harmodius and Aristogeiton were so 



216 aristotle. [b. c. 384-322. 

transcendently honored, but for their valor and probity; of 
which thou, Dicceogenes, hast not the smallest share. 1 



ARISTOTLE. 
384—322 b. c. 



This eminently practical philosopher, the disciple of Plato, was horn 
in Stageira, 2 a city of Macedonia, in the year 384 B. C. His father, 
Nicomachus, whose tastes and pursuits prohably tended to shape the 
studies and pursuits of the son, was court-physician to Amyntas II., 
King of Macedonia, and the author of works on medicine and natural 
philosophy. In early boyhood Aristotle was introduced at court by his 
father, and thus made that acquaintance with Philip which exerted so 
great an influence over his subsequent life. In 368 B. C. he became 
the disciple of Plato, and continued such for twenty years, improving, 
under the instructions of that great master, his admirable talent for 
analysis. In 343, at the request of Philip, he became the instructor 
of Alexander, then thirteen years old, who in after years assisted 
his teacher in his scientific pursuits, by sending to him collections of 
objects of natural history, and furnishing him with sums of money 
from time to time for the purchase of books. 3 The influence of Aris- 
totle's teaching on the mind of the future conqueror of the world is 
displayed in that noble generosity, merciful humanity, and strict 
love of justice, which were the distinguishing features of his moral 
character. 

In 335 B. C. Aristotle founded a new school in the Walks (ot 7rs;i7rzToi, 
the peripatoi) of the Lyceum, 4 just without the walls of Athens, whence 
the name of Peripatetics. Thirteen years did he pass in this delightful 

1 Contempt and indignation cannot be more strongly marked, than by the 
position of the proper name at the end of this speech ; but it would not have 
the same effect in our language "without voice, look, and gesture, to enforce 
it. The single name of Dicasogenes, as it stands in the original, supplies the 
place of epithets, and instantly suggests the idea of everything despicable. 

2 Hence he is often called the Stageirite. 

3 The total amount which Alexander sent Aristotle was eight hundred 
talents, equal to two millions of dollars in our day. Princely gifts, indeed, 
both for the master and the scholar; showing the eminent merits of the one, 
and the noble gratitude and generosity of the other. 

4 Then view 

The schools of ancient sages ; his, -who bred 
Great Alexander to subdue the world, 
Lyceum there.— Paradise Regained, ix, 250. 



B. C. 384-322.] ARISTOTLE. 21? 

and tranquil retreat, actively engaged in the work of daily instruction, 
and in the composition of his voluminous works. Being charged by 
the Athenians, as was Socrates, with impiety, he went to Chalcis in 
Euboea, where he died in the year 322 B. C. 

Aristotle possessed in a high degree the talent of discrimination, 
and a great mass of knowledge derived from books and the observa- 
tion of nature. He mastered the whole philosophical and historical 
science of his age, devoting himself to the exploration of nature. The 
cast of his mind was the very opposite to that of his great master. 
Plato was endowed with a highly poetical imagination ; his great 
object being knowledge, and his delight speculation. Absorbed in the 
contemplation of the intellectual and ideal, he seemed to forget, at 
times, that world in which he lived and moved. His fervid genius 
imparted a warmth and earnestness to his teaching almost resembling 
inspiration ; while his style was of the purest and sweetest Attic, and 
his illustrative imagery nothing less than poetical. Aristotle, on the 
other hand, had neither poetry, nor imagination, nor fancy in his 
composition. He was eminently a practical man, using the word 
practical in the material sense ; for his great object, as he himself 
says, was not knowledge (yvwo-is, meaning the philosophy of things), 
but practice (tt^iO* He could not form a conception of the ideal; 
but his teachings were argumentative and convincing and his reason- 
ings close. He never sought to recommend his views either by the 
embellishments of poetry, or by rhetorical or exciting appeals to the 
heart and affections ; hence he is cold and unimpressive, but intellec- 
tually convincing. 

"One cannot set too high a value on the practical nature of Aristo- 
tle's mind. He never forgot the immediate bearing of all philosophy 
upon the happiness of man, and he never lost sight of man's wants or 
requirements. He saw the inadequacy of all knowledge, unless he 
could trace in it a visible practical tendency. But beyond this one 
single point, he falls grievously short of his great master, Plato. All 
his ideas of man's good are limited to the consideration of this life 
alone. It is impossible to trace in his writings any belief in a future 
state or immortality." 1 

The first successors of Aristotle were, for the most part, skilful com- 
mentators on his doctrines, who endeavored to re-state more clearly 
what he had first advanced : the effect of which was, that his system 
gradually withdrew farther and farther from that of Plato, and propor- 
tionately approached the limits of materialism. In the middle ages it 

Browne's Greek Classical Literature. 
19 



218 ARISTOTLE. [b. c. 384-322. 

was degraded to a system of formularies, and held for many centuries 
tyrannic sway over the public mind ; but for the last three hundred 
years its influence has been growing weaker and weaker up to our 
times, when his philosophy is quite eclipsed by the elevating and 
sublime teachings and doctrines of Plato, whose influence over the 
educated mind of the world is growing stronger every year. 

The vast extent of erudition for which Aristotle was distinguished 
comprised within its sphere every branch of philosophy, each of which 
is fortunately represented in his extant works. Among them are 
elaborate treatises on Logic, Metaphysics, Physical Science, Physiology, 
Mathematics, Ethics, Politics, Natural History, and, besides these, 
Belles-lettres, including Rhetoric, Poetry, and Grammar. The most 
common division of his writings is into two classes : esoteric, which 
were communicated to his select pupils, those who were pursuing dif- 
ferent branches of science in a philosophic spirit ; and exoteric, such 
as were delivered to students of a more superficial character ; for the 
philosophers of Athens were not only its learned class, increasing the 
stores of speculation and discovery, but they also filled the office of 
public instructors, and were the preachers, the professors, the school- 
masters of that day. 

The great work of Aristotle is upon Logic, and called the Organon 1 
(the instrument of science), which is occupied with the investigation of 
the method by which man arrives at knowledge. It comprehends ten 
" Categories," or principles of classification, as the highest genera un- 
der which all things can be arranged ; namely, Essence or Substance, 
Quantity, Quality, Relation, Action, Passion or Suffering, Time, Place, 
Position, Possession or Having. These were to Aristotle aids to sys- 
tematic thought, suggesting lines of argument, and serving as reposi- 
tories in which arguments might be stored up for use. 

His Physical writings are " On the Doctrine of Nature ;" " On the 
Heavens ;" " On the Production and Dissolution of Natural Bodies ;" 
" On Meteors ;" " On Animal Life ;" " On the Natural History of Ani- 
mals ;" " On the Winds," &c. &c. His doctrine of Ethics is in ten 
books to Nicomachus, hence generally called his Nicomachean Ethics. 
His treatise on The Art of Rhetoric is in three distinct books, while 
that on The Art of Poetry is comprised in one. 2 

1 From this Bacon adopted the title of his chief work, Novum Organon, 
or "New Instrument of Science." 

2 The following are some of the best editions of Aristotle's -works : 
"Ethics," Greek and Latin, by Wilkinson, Oxfoi-d, 1716, and reprinted 
often; Zell, Heidelbei'g, 1820, two volumes 8vo. ; "Aristotle's Ethics with 
English Notes," by Rev. W. E. Jelf, Oxford, 1859. De Poetica, Grace et 
Latiue, by Thomas Tyrwhitt, Oxford, 1791. Of this there is an elegant, large 



B. C. 384-322.] ARISTOTLE. 219 



LIBERALITY. 

We proceed to speak of liberality, which seems to be that 
virtue which bears a peculiar relation to property. For the 
praise of liberality is not acquired by courage in war, modera- 
tion in pleasure, or justice in judgment, but by the propriety 
of our behavior in receiving or bestowing money, or whatever 
things can be measured by money ; and principally in bestow- 
ing them. Of the propriety of our conduct in relation to pro- 
perty, prodigality and niggardliness are the two contrary and 
blamable extremes. Niggardliness always refers to those who 
set more than a just value on money : but prodigality is some- 
times employed to express extravagant profusion joined with 
inordinate intemperance ; for those are called prodigals, who 
waste their fortunes in ruinous pleasures, and thus signally de- 
base themselves by complicated worthlessness. Yet prodigality 
more properly signifies one simple vice, that of ruining our- 
selves by our own fault ; for he ruins himself by his own fault, 
who wastefully consumes his property, that is, the means by 
which his life is supported ; and in this acceptation we take 
the word. Property falls under the description of things use- 
ful ; which may either be used rightly or abused ; and he only 
can use them rightly who is adorned with the virtue appertain- 
ing to them ; namely, liberality. The use of money consists 
in expending or bestowing it : for the taking or keeping of 
money relates to possession rather than to use. The virtue of 
liberality, therefore, is more conspicuous in bestowing hand- 
somely, than either in receiving what is our due, or in refusing 
what we ought not to accept. For virtue consists rather in 
acting our part well, than in avoiding what is amiss. This 
active virtue alone is the proper object of praise and gratitude ; 
for it is more meritorious to part with what is our own, than 
to abstain from what belongs to another ; which latter may be 
praised indeed as justice, but not as liberality ; and to accept 
what is strictly due to us, is not entitled to any degree of praise. 
None are more beloved than the liberal, because their virtue is 
extensively useful, diffusing itself in benefits. But the motive 

paper edition, Oxon., 1806. — Hermann, Leipsic, 1802, with philological and 
philosophical explanations. -His "Ethics and Politics" have been trans- 
lated by John Gillies, LL. D., in two volumes 8vo. The only complete 
translation in the English language of all his works is that by Thomas Tay- 
lor, London, 1806 12, 4to. 10 volumes. Of this only fifty copies were printed. 



220 Aristotle. [b. c. 384-322. 

from which their actions proceed, is what chiefly constitutes 
their excellence ; for liberality, like every other virtue, must 
keep the beauty of propriety in view; selecting its objects, and 
proportioning its extent, according to those rules which right 
reason prescribes. In conferring favors the critical moment 
must also be carefully studied ; and they must be conferred 
cheerfully, at least not painfully : and when any one of these 
conditions is wanting, whatever acts of bounty a man may per- 
form, he will not carry off the palm of virtuous and graceful 
liberality. If the gifts bestowed on others occasion pain to 
ourselves, it is a proof that we prefer money to the beauty of 
generous actions ; and if we are rapacious in acquiring money, 
we cannot be truly liberal in employing it. A man of real 
beneficence will not be importunate in solicitation. He will be 
delicate as to accepting favors ; but will enrich himself by the 
diligent management of his own affairs, that he may acquire 
materials for his bounty, which will be distributed with caution, 
that it may never fail the deserving. It belongs to his cha- 
racter to be more provident for others than for himself; and 
to extend the measure of his beneficence far beyond those limits 
which the prudence of selfishness would prescribe. But our 
liberality is relative to our wealth ; it consists, not in the value 
of our gifts, but in the temper and habit of the giver ; and he 
who gives the least of all, may be the most liberal of all, if 
what he gives bears the highest proportion to his substance. 



PRODIGALITY AND AVARICE. 

Prodigality and avarice are both of them excesses, and both of 
them defects. Prodigality is excessive in giving, and defective in 
receiving; avariceis defective in giving, and excessiveinreceiving; 
scraping together the meanest and vilest gains. The qualities 
which compose and support prodigality, are not easily united : it 
is difficult for him who is careless of receiving, to continue lavish 
in bestowing ; for his funds, if he is a private man, will soon 
be exhausted. The prodigal, therefore, is better than the miser, 
because his malady is more curable. Age, and the experience 
of want, will correct his extravagance ; and, as he still shows 
a generosity of nature, though unwisely and unseasonably, 
custom and good example will convert his thoughtless pro- 
fusion into decent and graceful liberality; since his deviations 
from the right path proceed rather from folly than from de- 
pravity and turpitude. For this reason such a prodigal is 



B. C. 384-322.] ARISTOTLE. 221 

preferable to the miser; and also, because the former benefits 
many, and the latter no one ; not even himself. But those who 
are prodigal of their own, are for the most part rapacious of 
what belongs to others ; and finding it impossible to supply 
their wild extravagance by honorable means, abstain from no 
source of gain, however impure and polluted it may be; so 
that even their bounties have nothing liberal in them, being 
withheld from virtue in distress, and lavished on parasites, flat- 
terers, and on the idle retinue of vice and folly. For the 
greater part of prodigals unite profligacy with prodigality; 
and, insensible to the beauty of virtue, fall victims to the allure- 
ment of pleasure. 



THE FOUNDATIONS OF PUBLIC HAPPINESS. 

Rightly to investigate the best form of a government, it is 
necessary previously to ascertain what is the best kind of life ; 
since the latter of these remaining undetermined, the former 
also must continue to be unknown. Those men (barring im- 
probable accidents) are the happiest, who live under the best 
government of which their circumstances admit. We must 
begin, therefore, by examining what kind of life is most eligible 
for mankind in general ; and secondly, whether the well-being 
of individuals and of communities results from the same causes, 
and is to be estimated by the same standard. The former of 
these topics has been sufficiently discussed in our popular dis- 
courses ; where we made use of a division that appears to be 
indisputably accurate ; namely, that the happiness of men de- 
pends on their external prosperity, on the frame and habit of 
their bodies, on the state and condition of their minds. He 
surely would be unworthy to be called happy, who possessed 
not the smallest particle of fortitude, of temperance, of justice, 
or of prudence ; since the wretch totally destitute of these 
virtues respectively, would be frightened at the buzzing of a 
fly; would wallow unrestrained in the most beastly sensuality; 
would not hesitate, for the smallest gain, to destroy his best 
benefactor ; and in point of intellectual operations, would be- 
tray either childish imbecility or frantic absurdity. That a 
certain portion of virtue is essential to the well-being of a 
human creature, cannot, therefore, be a matter of dispute ; but 
to what this portion ought to amount, occasions much diversity 
of opinion. In general, mankind are satisfied with their respec- 
tive shares of virtue, how scanty soever they may be, but ex- 

19* 



222 Aristotle. [b. c. 384-322. 

tremely dissatisfied with their shares of all other advantages ; 
for their measure of virtue, however inconsiderable it may ap- 
pear to others, rarely appearing deficient to themselves, they 
seek not to augment it ; while their estates and money, their 
fame and their power, cannot possibly, in their own opinion, 
be too widely enlarged, or too highly accumulated. But we 
say to them, that such vulgar illusions, even vulgar observation 
may suffice to dispel. The external advantages of power and 
fortune are acquired and maintained by virtue, not virtue by 
them ; and whether we consider the virtuous energies them- 
selves, or the fruits which they unceasingly produce, the 
sovereign good of life must evidently be found in moral and 
intellectual excellence, moderately supplied with external ac- 
commodations, rather than in the greatest accumulation of 
external advantages, unimproved and unadorned by virtue. 
External prosperity is indeed instrumental in producing hap- 
piness, and therefore, like every other instrument, must have 
its assigned limits ; beyond which it is inconvenient or hurtful. 
But to mental excellence no limit can be assigned : the farther 
it extends, the more useful it becomes, if the epithet of useful 
need ever to be superadded to that of honorable. Besides this, 
the relative importance of qualities is best estimated by that of 
their respective subjects. But the mind, both in itself and in 
reference to man, is far better than the body, or than property. 
The excellencies of the mind, therefore, are in the same pro- 
portion to be preferred to the highest perfection of the body, 
and the best disposition of external circumstances. The two 
last are of a far inferior, and merely a subservient nature ; 
since no man of sense covets or pursues them, but for the sake 
of the mind, with a view to promote its genuine improvement, 
and to heighten its native joys. Let this great truth then be 
acknowledged ; a truth evinced by the Deity himself, who is 
happy, not from any external cause, but through the inherent 
attributes of his divine nature. 



ORIGIN OF POETRY. 

Poetry, in general, seems to have derived its origin from 
two causes, each of them natural. 

To imitate is instinctive in man from his infancy. By this 
he is distinguished from other animals, that he is, of all, the 
most imitative, and through this instinct receives his earliest 
education. All men, likewise, naturally receive pleasure from 



b. c. 384-322.] aristotle. 223 

imitation. This is evident from what we experience in viewing 
the works of imitative art ; for in them, we contemplate with 
pleasure, and with the more pleasure, the more exactly they 
are imitated, such objects as, if real, we could not see without 
pain ; as, the figures of the meanest and most disgusting ani- 
mals, dead bodies, and the like. And the reason of this is, 
that to learn, is a natural pleasure, not confined to philoso- 
phers, but common to all men ; with this difference only, that 
the multitude partake of it in a more transient and compendi- 
ous manner. Hence the pleasure they receive from a picture : 
in viewing it they learn, they infer, they discover, what every 
object is : that this, for instance, is such a particular man, &c. 
For if we suppose the object represented to be something 
which the spectator had never seen, his pleasure, in that case, 
will not arise from the imitation, but from the workmanship, 
the colors, or some such cause. 

Imitation, then, being thus natural to us, and melody and 
rhythm being also natural, those persons, in whom, originally, 
these propensities were the strongest, were naturally led to 
rude and extemporaneous attempts, which, gradually improved, 
gave birth to Poetry. 



TWO KINDS OP POETRY. 

But this Poetry, following the different characters of its 
authors, naturally divided itself into two different kinds. They 
who were of a grave and lofty spirit, chose, for their imitation, 
the actions and the adventures of elevated characters ; while 
Poets of a lighter turn, represented those of the vicious and 
contemptible. And these composed, originally, Satires ; as the 
former did Hymns and Encomia. 

Of the lighter kind, we have no Poem anterior to the time 
of Homer, though many such, in all probability, there were ; 
but, from his time, we have ; as, his Margites, 1 and others of 
the same species, in w T hich the Iambic was introduced as the 
most proper measure ; and hence, indeed, the name of Iambic, 
because it was the measure in which they used to iambize (that 
is, to satirize) each other. 

And thus these old Poets were divided into two classes — 

The word Margites means, in Greek (fAApynnc), a mad, silly fellow; 
hence this is the name of the hero of a mock-heroic poem of the same name, 
ascribed to Homer. 



224 artstotle. [b. c. 384-322. 

those who used the heroic,* and those who used the iambic, 
verse. 

And as, in the serious kind, Homer alone may be said to 
deserve the name of Poet, not only on account of his other 
excellencies, but also of the dramatic spirit of his imitations ; 
so was he likewise the first who suggested the idea of Comedy, 
by substituting ridicule for invective, and giving that ridicule 
a dramatic cast : for his Margites bears the same analogy to 
Comedy, as his Iliad and Odyssey do to Tragedy. But when 
Tragedy and Comedy had once made their appearance, suc- 
ceeding Poets, according to the turn of their genius, attached 
themselves to the one or the other of these new species : the 
lighter sort, instead of Iambic, became Comic Poets ; the 
graver, Tragic instead of Heroic: and that on account of the 
superior dignity and higher estimation of these latter forms of 
Poetry. 

the honorable. 

That is honorable which, while it is an object of choice on 
its own account, is commendable also ; or which, being good, 
is pleasant, simply because it is good. But if the honorable 
be this, virtue must necessarily be honorable ; for, being good, 
it is commendable. And virtue, as it should seem, is a faculty 
tending to provide us with goods and preserve them to us ; a 
faculty, moreover, capable of benefiting in many and important 
cases ; of benefiting, in a word, every object in every respect. 
The constituent parts of virtue are justice, courage, temper- 
ance, magnificence, magnanimity, liberality, placability, pru- 
dence, wisdom ; and it must needs be, that those virtues are 
the highest which are the most beneficial to others, if at least 
virtue be (as it was defined) a faculty capable of benefiting on 
this account, men honor in the greatest degree the just and 
brave ; for justice and courage are useful to them, the one in 
war, and the other in peace. Next is liberality ; for the liberal 
are profuse, and do not wrangle with people about money, the 
object which the rest of the world hanker after more than any- 
thing. Now justice is the virtue by which each has his own, 
as the law prescribes ; injustice, however, is that habit by which 
some take the property of others in contravention to" law. 
Courage, that by which men are ready to achieve honorable 

1 That is, hexameters, composed of dactyls and spondees, which were 
called heroic feet. 



b. o. 384-322.] Aristotle. 225 

exploits in the midst of danger, conformably to the direction 
of and in subservience to law ; cowardice, however, is its con- 
trary. But temperance is a virtue by which men carry them- 
selves so, in respect to the pleasures of the body, as the law 
directs ; intemperance, however, is its contrary. But liberality 
tends to benefit in pecuniary matters ; stinginess is its contrary. 
Magnanimity is that virtue which is apt to confer important 
benefits ; narrowness of soul is its opposite. Magnificence is 
the virtue which produces grandeur in expenditures : again, 
narrowness of soul and meanness are opposed. Prudence, how- 
ever, is an intellectual virtue, by conforming to which men have 
the faculty of actually determining on the subjects of good and 
evil, which has been mentioned as entering into happiness. 



WHAT THINGS ARE PLEASANT. 

Let it be laid down by us, that pleasure is a certain motion 
of the soul, and a settlement of it, at once rapid and perceptible, 
into its own proper nature ; and that pain is the contrary. If 
then pleasure be a thing of this nature, it is plain that whatever 
is productive of the disposition I have described, is pleasant ; 
while everything of a nature to destroy it, or produce a dispo-. 
sition the opposite to it, is painful. 

There is also a kind of pleasure consequent on most appe- 
tites ; for either in the recollection that they have enjoyed them, 
or in the hope that they shall enjoy them, men are affected and 
delighted by a certain pleasure : thus men possessed by fevers 
feel delight, amid their thirst, as well at the remembrance how 
they used to drink, as at the hope of drinking yet again. Lovers, 
too, feel delight in conversing, writing, and composing some- 
thing, ever about the object beloved ; because, in all those 
energies, they have a perception, as it were, of the object they 
love. And this is in all cases a criterion of the commencement 
of love, when persons feel pleasure not only in the presence of 
the object, but are enamored also of it when absent, on memory ; 
wherefore, even when pain arises at absence, nay, in the midst 
of mourning, and the very dirge of death, there yet arises within 
us a certain pleasure. 

Again, to overcome is pleasant, not to the ambitious only, 
but even to all ; for there arises an imagination of superiority, 
for which all, either in a faint or more violent degree, have an 
appetite. But since to overcome is pleasant, it must follow of 
course, that amusements where there is field for rivalry, as those 



226 Aristotle. [b. c. 384-322. 

of music and disputations, are pleasant ; for it frequently occurs, 
in the course of these, that we overcome ; also chess, ball, dice, 
and draughts. Again, it is the same with respect to amuse- 
ments where a lively interest is taken ; for, of these, some be- 
come pleasant as accustomed to them ; others are. pleasant at 
first ; for instance, hunting and every kind of sporting ; for 
where there is rivalry, there is also victory ; on which principle 
the disputations of the bar and of the schools are pleasant to 
those who have become accustomed to them, and have abili- 
ties. Also honor and good character are most pleasant, by 
reason that an idea arises, that one is such as is the good man ; 
and this in a greater degree should those people pronounce one 
such, who always speaks the truth ; such are those immediately 
about one, rather than those who are more removed ; familiar 
friends, and acquaintances, and one's fellow citizens, rather than 
those who are at a distance ; the present, rather than a future 
generation; a man of practical wisdom, rather than a mere 
ignoramus ; many, than a few ; for it is more likely that these I 
have mentioned will adhere to the truth, than that the opposite 
characters will : since one has no anxiety about the honor or 
the opinions of such as one greatly despises, children and ani- 
mals, for instance, not at least for the sake of such opinion itself; 
but if one is anxious about it, then it is on account of some- 
thing else. A friend, too, ranks among things pleasant ; for 
the affection of love is pleasant. 

Also the being held in admiration is pleasant, on the very 
account of being honored by it. Flattery and the flatterer are 
pleasant ; since the flatterer is a seeming admirer and a seem- 
ing friend. To continue the same course of action is also plea- 
sant ; for what is habitual was laid clown to be pleasant. To 
vary is also pleasant ; for change is an approach to what is 
natural ; for sameness produces an excess of a stated habit; 
whence it has been said, " In everything change is pleasant," 
For on this principle, whatever occurs at intervals of time is 
pleasant, whether persons or things ; for it is a variation of 
present objects ; and at the same time that which occurs merely 
at intervals possesses the merit of rarity. Also learning and 
admiration, generally speaking, are pleasant; for under admi- 
ration exists a desire to learn, so that what is admired is de- 
sired; and in the act of learning there is a settlement into a 
state conformable to nature. To benefit and to be benefited 
are also of the number of pleasant things; for to be benefited, 
is to get what people desire ; but to benefit is to possess and 
abound ; things the both of which men desire. And because 



b. c. 384-322.] Aristotle. 22T 

a tendency to beneficence is pleasant, it is also pleasant to a 
man to set his neighbor on his legs again, and to put a finish 
to that which was deficient in some particular. But as the 
acquisition of knowledge is pleasant, and also the feeling of 
admiration ; that, too, must necessarily be pleasant which has 
been expressed in imitation, as in painting, sculpture, and 
poetry; also, everything is pleasant which has been correctly 
imitated, although the original object, of which it is the imita- 
tion, may not in itself be pleasant ; for one does not feel plea- 
sure on that account ; but there is an inference that " this means 
that :" and thus it happens that we learn something. It is also 
pleasant to put a finish to what is deficient; for it became by 
that time one's own production. And as to rule is the most 
pleasant of all things, the appearing to be wise is also pleasant; 
for knowledge is a principle of power; and wisdom is a know- 
ledge of many subjects, and those commanding admiration. 

In a similar way, since amusement ranks among pleasant 
things, and as every relaxation and laughter is of the number, 
things ridiculous must therefore of course be pleasant, as well 
persons as expressions and productions. Let thus much have 
been said on the subject of things pleasant; from the contraries 
of these things, what is painful will be evident. 



THE DISPOSITIONS CONSEQUENT ON WEALTH. 

Any one, without any great penetration, may distinguish the 
dispositions consequent on wealth ; for its possessors are in- 
solent and overbearing, from being tainted in a certain way by 
the getting of their wealth. For they are affected as though 
they possessed every good ; since wealth is a sort of standard 
of the worth of other things ; whence everything seems to be 
purchasable by it. And they are affectedly delicate and purse- 
proud ; they are thus delicate on account of their luxurious 
lives, and the display they make of their prosperity. They are 
purse-proud, and violate the rules of good breeding, from the 
circumstance that every one is wont to dwell upon that which 
is beloved and admired by him, and because they think that 
others are emulous of that of which they are themselves. But 
at the same time they are thus affected reasonably enough ; for 
many are they who need the aid of men of property. Whence, 
too, that remark of Simonides addressed to the wife of Hiero 
representing the wealthy and the wise ; for when she asked 
him "whether it were better to have been born wealthy or 



228 DEMOSTHENES. [b. c. 382-322. 

wise," he replied, ''wealthy; for," he said, "he used to see 
the wise hanging on at the doors of the wealthy." And it is 
a characteristic of the rich that they esteem themselves worthy 
of being in office ; for they consider themselves possessed of 
that on account of which they are entitled to. be in office. 
And, in a word, the disposition of the rich is that of a fool 
amid prosperity. 

However, the dispositions of those who are but lately rich, 
and of those who have been so from of old, are different ; in- 
asmuch as those who have recently become rich have all these 
faults in a greater and a worse degree ; for the having recently 
become rich is as it were an inexpertness in wealth. 



DEMOSTHENES. 
382—322 b. c. 



"Thence to the famous orators repair, 
Those ancient, -whose resistless eloquence 
Wielded at will that fierce democratic 
Shook the arsenal, and fulmin'd over Greece 
To Macedon and Artaxerxes' throne." 

Paradise Regained, iv. 267. 

To the nature of the Athenian government — "that fierce demo- 
cratic," as Milton calls it ; to its foreign wars and domestic discords ; 
as well as to the cultivated intellect, quick perceptions, and fastidious 
taste of the people, may we refer the great superiority of the Athenian 
orators over all others of ancient, if not of modern times. All great 
questions of peace or war, of domestic policy and of foreign relations, 
were decided at Athens by the vote of the populace, and hence he 
who could exert over them the most potent influence, had open before 
him the sure avenue to honor and opulence. That there were always 
multitudes ambitious of this distinction was a matter of course, and 
hence the art of eloquence was cultivated in that city with the greatest 
assiduity and zeal. 

Of all those who distinguished themselves in the capital of Attica 
for eloquence, Demosthenes, by the common consent of ancient and 
modern times, stands pre-eminent. His father was a wealthy sword- 
cutler of Attica, and died when his son had completed only his seventh 
year, leaving a considerable property to him in the hands of three 
guardians. These so mismanaged and squandered their trust, that 
Demosthenes, most happily, was forced to depend upon the resources 



B. C. 382-322.] DEMOSTHENES. 229 

of his own intellect, and determined to devote his life to oratory. He 
chose Isjeus for his master, and though having a weakly constitution, 
and an impediment in his speech, yet by steady, persevering effort, and 
daily practice, he brought himself to address without embarrassment, 
and with complete success, the assembled multitudes of the Athenian 
people. His first attempts at oratory were made to vindicate his own 
claims, and recover the property which his guardians had appropriated 
to themselves. In this he proved entirely successful. After this, he 
displayed his ability as an orator on several public occasions, and 
succeeded by the power of his eloquence in preventing the Athenians 
from engaging in a war with Persia. 

But most of the oratorical efforts of Demosthenes were directed to 
rouse the Athenians from their indolence, and to arm them against the 
insidious designs and ambitious schemes of Philip, who, in the year 358 
B. C, began that attack upon the northern maritime allies of Athens — 
Amphipolis, Pydna, Potidsea, Methone, and Olynthus, designing thereby 
to extinguish, in the end, the liberties of all Greece. Demosthenes 
was the only person who, utterly fearless of personal consequences, 
had the honesty and the courage openly to express his opinions, and 
to call upon the Greeks to unite against their common foe. These 
patriotic efforts are the groundwork of his "Philippics" — a series of 
most spirited and splendid orations, attacking with terrible vehemence 
the ambition of the Macedonian monarch. Hence their title has been 
given to the speeches of Cicero against Antony, and indeed to all ' 
orations which consist of spirited and bitter invective. Of the same 
character are the three orations called " Olynthiacs," 1 that on the 
proposition of " Peace" with Philip, and that which is entitled " On 
the Chersonese." 

But Philip's influence at length became so great that in 339 B. C. 
he was elected general of the Amphictyonic army, and the next year 
he gained the battle of Chseronea over the Athenians, which left Greece 
proper only the outward form and name of liberty. Demosthenes, 
who had in vain endeavored to rouse his countrymen to resist Philip, 
when their resistance would have been effectual, was selected to de- 
liver the funeral oration over those who fell on that fatal field. Such 
was the noble tribute which the Athenians, though defeated in the 
battle which he advised, paid to his great purity of character and 
transcendent genius. 

The party of Philip now, of course, gained great strength in Athens. 

1 Philip's attack on Olynthus in 349 terminated the next year in the eon- 
quest of the place, by which the Athenians were deprived of their last strong- 
hold in the North. 
20 



230 DEMOSTHENES. [b. C. 382-322. 

It was headed by iEschines, the rival of Demosthenes ; and when 
Ctesiphon proposed that a golden crown should be delivered to Demos- 
thenes in the theatre at the Dionysiac festival, as a reward for his 
patriotism, iEschines opposed it, attacked Ctesiphon, and endeavored 
to show that the proposal was not only made in an illegal form, but 
that the conduct of Demosthenes did not give him any claim to public 
gratitude or such a distinction. For eight years, however, iEschines 
deferred to prosecute the charge, and he was then (330 B. C.) answered 
by Demosthenes in his celebrated oration m^ Its^uvov, "Upon the 
Crown," which in point of logical argumentation, and brilliant and 
impassioned eloquence, has not its superior in any language. 1 Demos- 
thenes had scarcely finished his speech when iEschines threw up the 
cause. He did not obtain one-fifth of the votes, and therefore, accord- 
ing to the laws of Athens, was obliged to leave the country. 

On the death of Philip, 336 B. C, the Greeks had hopes of shaking 
off the Macedonian yoke ; but they soon saw that in energy, skill, and 
bravery, the son was quite equal to the father, and they were glad to 
sue for peace. So strong, however, was the Macedonian party in Athens 
that Demosthenes, on a false charge of corruption, was condemned and 
banished. He, however, escaped from prison, and lived in exile until 
the death of Alexander, B. C. 323, when he interested himself deeply 
in another movement of the Greeks to regain their liberty. After 
many ineffectual struggles, the Athenians were compelled to make 
peace with Antipater, the regent of Macedonia, appointed by Alexan- 
der, one of the terms of which was that they should give up their 
leading orators. Whereupon Demosthenes fled to Calauria, an island 
east of Argolis, and took refuge in the temple of Neptune, and, taking 
the poison which he had for some time kept about his person, died 
there on the 10th of October, 322 B. C. 

Thus terminated the career of a man who has been ranked by 
scholars of all ages among the greatest and noblest spirits of antiquity, 
and who governed Athens by his oratory for twenty years. The cha- 
racteristics of his eloquence were strength, purity, sublimity, and a 
piercing energy and force, aided by a warm, emphatic, and vigorous 

1 In modern times, Lord Chatham's speech on American affairs, delivered 
in the House of Lords, November 18, 1777; Edmund Burke's, on the "Na- 
bob of Arcot's Debts," delivered in the House of Commons, February 28, 
1785; Fisher Ames', on the "British Treaty," delivered in our House of 
Representatives, April 28, 1796; Daniel Webster's, on the "Public Lands," 
delivered in the United States Senate, 1830, and Charles Sumner's, on the 
infamous "Fugitive Slave Bill," delivered in the Senate in 1852, will, for 
effective, brilliant, and logical eloquence, rank side by side with this mas- 
terly effort of Demosthenes. 



B. C. 382-322.] DEMOSTHENES. 231 

elocution. If to these intellectual powers we add an unsullied purity 
of character that hated all dishonesty, all trickery, and all shams, and 
was the earnest and constant advocate of virtue and truth, we cannot 
wonder at the powerful sway he exerted over the minds of the Athe- 
nians, and the admiration in which he has been held by all after 
times. 

Of the orations of Demosthenes sixty-one have come down to us 
under his. name, though some are of very doubtful authenticity. Be- 
sides these, there are fifty-six Exordia, or introductions to public 
orations, and six letters which bear his name, though some of them 
are doubtful. Of the orations, seventeen belong to the class called 
" deliberative ;" forty-two are "judicial" speeches ; and two " demon- 
strative." Of the " deliberative," twelve relate to the contests between 
Philip and the Greeks, three of which are styled " Olynthiacs," and 
four " Philippics," the rest of the twelve bearing different titles.' 



PHILIP AND THE ATHENIANS. 

If any one of you, Athenians, thinks that Philip is hard to 
struggle witb, considering both the magnitude of the power 
already to his hand and the fact that all the strong places are 
lost to our state — he thinks rightly enough. But let him take 
this into account : that we ourselves, Athenians, once held 
Pydna, and Potidsea, and Methone, and all that country — as it 
were in our own home-circle ; and many of the states now 
under his sway were beginning to be self-ruled and free, and 
preferred to hold friendly relations with us rather than with 
him. Now, then, if Philip had harbored at that time the idea 
that it was hard to struggle With the Athenians when they had 
such strongholds in his country, while he was destitute of allies 
— he would have effected none of those things which he has 
accomplished, nor would he have ever acquired so great power. 
But he at least knew this well enough, Athenians — that all 
these strongholds are prizes of war open to each contestant, 
and that naturally the possessions of the absent fall to those 
who are on the spot, and the opportunities of the careless are 
seized by those willing to work and to risk. It has been so in 

1 Editions : by Reiske, in his Greek Orators, twelve volumes ; by Schaefer, 
reprinted in London, nine volumes 8vo., 1822-27 ; by Dinclorf, Leipsic, 1825, 
three volumes 8vo. Translations, by Thomas Leland, D. D., by Rev. Philip 
Francis, with critical and historical notes ; and by Kennedy, in Bonn's 
Classical Library. 



232 DEMOSTHENES. [b. c. 382-322. 

his case, for, possessed by such sentiments, he has thoroughly- 
subdued and now holds all places : some, as one might hold 
them in his grasp by custom of war ; others, by having made 
them allies and friends. No wonder : for all are ready to give 
their heart-felt adherence to those whom they see prepared and 
ready to do what necessity demands. 

In like manner, if you also, Athenians, are now ready to 
adopt the same principle (since, alas ! you were not before), 
and each one of you, throwing away all dissimulation, is ready 
to show himself useful to the state, as far as its necessity and 
his power extend ; if each is ready to do — the rich to contri- 
bute, those of serviceable age to take the field ; in a word, if 
you choose to be your own masters, and each individual ceases 
to do nothing, hoping that his neighbor will do all for him — 
you will both regain your possessions (with Heaven's permis- 
sion) and recover your opportunities recklessly squandered : 
you will take vengeance on him. 

Do not suppose his present happy fortune immutable — im- 
mortal, like a god's; on the other hand, some hate him, others 
fear him, Athenians, and envy him, and that, too, in the num- 
ber of those who seem on intimate terms with him; for all those 
passions that rage in other men, we may assume to be hidden in 
the bosoms of those also that surround him. Now, however, 
all these passions have crouched before him, having no escape 
on account of your laziness and indifference, which, I repeat, 
you ought immediately to abandon. For you see the state of 
things, Athenians, to what a pitch of arrogance he has come — 
this man who gives you no choice to act or to remain quiet, 
but brags about and talks words of overwhelming insolence, as 
they tell us. He is not such a character as to rest with the 
possessions which he has conquered, but is always compassing 
something else, and at every point hedging us, dallying and 
supine, in narrower and narrower circles. When, then, Athe- 
nians, when will you do what you ought ? As soon as some- 
thing happens ? As soon, great Jove ! as necessity compels 
you ? Why, what does necessity compel you to think now of 
your deeds ? In my opinion, the most urgent necessity to 
freemen is the disgrace attendant upon their public policy. 

Or do you prefer — tell me, do you prefer to wander about 
here and there, asking in the market-place, " What news ? what 
news ?" What can be newer than that a Macedonian should 
crush Athenians in war and lord it over all Greece ? " Is 
Philip dead?" "No, by Jove, but he's sick." What differ- 
ence is it to you ? what difference ? For if anything should 



B. 0. 382-322. J DEMOSTHENES. 233 

happen to him, you would quickly raise up another Philip, if 
you manage your public affairs as you now do. For not so 
much to his own strength as to your laziness does he owe his 
present aggrandizement. 

Yet even if anything should happen to him, and fortune 
begin to favor us (for she has always cared for us more kindly 
than we for ourselves) ; you know that by being nearer to them 
you could assert your power over all these disordered posses- 
sions, and could dictate what terms you might choose ; but as 
you now act, if some chance should give you Amphipolis, you 
could not take it, so lacking are you in your preparations and 
zeal. 



MEASURES TO BE ADOPTED TO RESIST PHILIP. 

Let any one now come forward and tell me, by whose con- 
trivance but ours, Philip has grown strong. Well, sir, this 
looks bad, but things at home are better. What proof can be 
adduced ? The parapets that are whitewashed ? The roads 
that are repaired ? fountains and fooleries ? Look at the men 
of whose statesmanship these are the fruits. They have risen 
from beggary to opulence, or from obscurity to honor ; some 
have made their private houses more splendid than the public 
buildings ; and in proportion as the state has declined, their 
fortunes have been exalted. 

What has produced these results ? How is it that all went 
prosperously then, and now goes wrong ? Because anciently 
the people, having the courage to be soldiers, controlled the 
statesmen, and disposed of all emoluments ; any of the rest was 
happy to receive from the people his share of honor, office, or 
advantage. Now, contrariwise, the statesmen dispose of emo- 
luments ; through them everything is done ; you the people, 
enervated, stripped of treasure and allies, are become as under- 
lings and hangers-on, happy if these persons dole you out show- 
money or send you paltry beeves -, 1 and, the unmanliest part of 

1 Entertainments were frequently given to the people after sacrifices, at 
which a very small part of the victim was devoted to the gods, such as the 
legs and intestines, the rest being kept for more profane purposes. The 
Athenians were remarkably extravagant in sacrifices. Demades, ridiculing 
the donations of public meat, compared the republic to an old woman, sitting 
at home in slippers and supping her broth. Demosthenes, using the diminu- 
tive fioiS'i'j., charges the magistrates with supplying lean and poor oxen, 
whereas the victims ought to be healthy and large, likes*.. 

20* 



234 DEMOSTHENES. [b. c. 382-322. 

all, you are grateful for receiving your own. They, cooping 
you in the city, lead you to your pleasures, and make you tame 
and submissive to their hands. It is impossible, I say, to have 
a high and noble spirit, while you are engaged in petty and 
mean employments : wiiatever be the pursuits of men, their 
characters must be similar. By Ceres, I should not wonder, 
if I, for mentioning these things, suffered more from your re- 
sentment than the men who have brought them to pass. For 
even liberty of speech you allow not on all subjects ; I marvel 
indeed you have allowed it here. 

Would you but even now, renouncing these practices, per- 
form military service and act worthily of yourselves ; would 
you employ these domestic superfluities as a means to gain 
advantage abroad ; perhaps, Athenians, perhaps you might 
gain some solid and important advantage, and be rid of these 
perquisites, which are like the diet ordered by physicians for 
the sick. As that neither imparts strength, nor suffers the 
patient to die, so your allowances are not enough to be of sub- 
stantial benefit, nor yet permit you to reject them and turn to 
something else. Thus do they increase the general apathy. 
What ? I shall be asked : mean you stipendiary service ? Yes, 
and forthwith the same arrangement for all, Athenians, that 
each, taking his dividend from the public, may be what the 
state requires. Is peace to be had ? You are better at home, 
under no compulsion to act dishonorably from indigence. Is 
there such an emergency as the present ? Better to be a sol- 
dier, as you ought, in your country's cause, maintained by 
those very allowances. Is any one of you beyond the military 
age ? What he now irregularly takes without doing service, 
let him take by just regulation, superintending and transacting 
needful business. Thus, without derogating from or adding 
to our political system, only removing some irregularity, I 
bring it into order, establishing a uniform rule for receiving 
money, for serving in war, for sitting on juries, for doing what 
each accordiug to his age can do, and what occasion requires. 
I never advise we should give to idlers the wages of the dili- 
gent, or sit at leisure, passive and helpless, to hear that such a 
one's mercenaries are victorious ; as we now do. Not that I 
blame any one who does you a service : I only call upon you, 
Athenians, to perform on your own account those duties for 
which you honor strangers, and not to surrender that post of 
dignity which, won through many glorious dangers, your an- 
cestors have bequeathed. 

I have said nearly all that I think necessary. I trust you 



B. C. 382-322.] DEMOSTHENES. 235 

will adopt that course which is best for the country and your- 
selves. 



THE ATHENIANS OF A FORMER AGE DESCRIBED. 

I ask you, Athenians, to see how it was in the time of your 
ancestors ; for by domestic (not foreign) examples you may 
learn your lesson of duty. Themistocles who commanded in 
the sea-fight at Salamis, and Miltiades who led at Marathon, 
and many others, who performed services unlike the generals 
of the present day — assuredly they were not set up in brass 
nor overvalued by your forefathers, who honored them, but 
only as persons on a level with themselves. Your forefathers, 
O my countrymen, surrendered not their part in any of those 
glories. There is no man who will attribute the victory of 
Salamis to Themistocles, but to the Athenians ; nor the battle 
of Marathon to Miltiades, but to the republic. But now 
people say, that Timotheus took Corcyra, 1 and Iphicrates cut 
off the Spartan division, 3 and Chabrias won the naval victory 
at Naxos : 3 for you seem to resign the merit of these actions, 
by the extravagance of the honors which you have bestowed 
on their account upon each of the commanders. 

So wisely did the Athenians of that day confer political 
rewards ; so improperly do you. But how the rewards of 
foreigners ? To Menon the Pharsalian, who gave twelve 
talents in money for the war at Eion 4 by Amphipolis, and 

1 Timotheus brought back Corcyra to the Athenian alliance, B. C. 376. 
The Lacedsemonians attempted to recover it three years after, but were de- 
feated. 

2 At Lechaeum near Corinth. The division of the Lacedaemonian army 
called fAopa, which Iphicrates defeated, was little more than four hundred 
men. The fame of the exploit, so disproportioned to the numbers engaged, 
was owing, partly to the great renown of the Spartan infantry, which had 
not been defeated in a pitched battle for a long period before, and partly to 
the new kind of troops employed by the Athenian general. 

3 Which annihilated the Spartan navy, B. C. 376. In this battle Phoeion 
first distinguished himself. 

4 Eion is a city on the Strymon below Amphipolis. In the eighth year of 
the Peloponnesian war, when Brasidas had taken Amphipolis, he sailed down 
the Strymon to attack Eion, but the town had been put in a posture of defence 
by Thucydides the historian, who came to its relief with some ships from 
Thasos. There is no mention in Thucydides of Menon the Pharsalian. 
Brasidas had partisans in Pharsalus, and marched through Thessaly on his 
expedition to Chaleidice, aided by some of the nobles of that country. But 
the Thessalian people in general sided with the Athenians, and an endeavor 
was made to prevent his march. Afterwards they stopped the passage of the 
Spartan reinforcements. 



236 demostiienes. [b. c. 382-322. 

assisted them with two hundred horsemen of his own retainers, 1 
the Athenians then voted not the freedom of their city, but 
only granted immunity from imposts. 2 And in earlier times 
to Perdiccas, 3 who reigned in Macedonia during the invasion 
of the Barbarian — when he had destroyed the Persians who 
retreated from PlataBa after their defeat, and completed the 
disaster of the king — they voted not the freedom of their city, 
but only granted immunity from imposts ; doubtless, esteeming 
their country to be of high value, honor, and dignity, surpass- 
ing all possible obligation. But now, ye men of Athens, ye 
adopt the vilest of mankind, menials and the sons of menials, 
to be your citizens, receiving a price as for any other salable 
commodity. And you have fallen into such a practice, not 
because your natures are inferior to your ancestors, but because 
they were in a condition to think highly of themselves, while 
from you, men of Athens, this power is taken away. It can 
never be, methinks, that your spirit is generous and noble, while 
you are engaged in petty and mean employments ; no more 
than you can be abject and mean-spirited, while your actions 
are honorable and glorious. Whatever be the pursuits of men, 
their sentiments must necessarily be similar. 

Mark what a summary view may be taken of the deeds per- 
formed by your ancestors and by you. Possibly from such 
comparison you may rise superior to yourselves. They for a 
period of five and forty years took the lead of the Greeks by 
general consent, and carried up more than ten thousand talents 
into the citadel ; and many glorious trophies they erected for 
victories by land and sea, wherein even yet we take a pride. 
And remember, they erected these, not merely that we may 
survey them with admiration, but also that we may emulate 
the virtues of the dedicators. 4 Such was their conduct : but 

1 The Penestce. of Thessaly were serfs or vassals, whose condition was 
somewhat like, though superior to, that of the Laeonian Helots. They were 
in fact the ancient inhabitants, reduced to a state of dependence by the Thes- 
salian conquerors. 

2 Such an immunity, when granted to a foreigner, would exempt him from 
customs and harbor dues. In the case of a person like Menon, it would be 
little more than an honorary distinction. But to a citizen or a foreigner 
residing at Athens, an exemption from duties and taxes would be more im- 
portant. 

3 It was Alexander who reigned in Macedonia at this time. This, then, is 
either a mistake of the orator, or we may suppose with Lucchesini, that Per- 
diccas, the son of Alexander, was governor of a principality, and therefore 
dignified with the kingly title. 

4 The trophy, which consisted of armor and spoils taken from the enemy, 
was hung up, usually on a tree, near the field of battle, and consecrated to 



B. C. 382-322.] DEMOSTHENES. 231 

for ours — fallen as we have on a solitude 1 manifest to you all — 
look if it bears any resemblance. Have not more than fifteen 
hundred talents been lavished ineffectually on the distressed 
people of Greece ? 3 Have not all private fortunes, the reve- 
nues of the state, the contributions from our allies, been squan- 
dered ? Have not the allies, whom we gained in the war, been 
lost recently in the peace ? But forsooth, in these respects 
only was it better anciently than now, in other respects worse. 
Yery far from that 1 Let us examine what instances you 
please. The edifices which they left, the ornaments of the city 
in temples, harbors, and the like, were so magnificent and 
beautiful, that room is not left for any succeeding generation 
to surpass them ; yonder gateway, 3 the Parthenon, docks, por- 
ticos, and other structures, which they adorned the city withal 
and bequeathed .to us. The private houses of the men in 
power were so modest and in accordance with the name of the 
constitution, that if any one knows the style of house which 
Themistocles occupied, or Cimon, or Aristides, or Miltiades, 
and the illustrious of that day, he perceives it to be no grander 
than that of the neighbors. But now, ye men of Athens, 
— as regards public measures — our government is content to 
furnish roads, fountains, whitewashing, and trumpery; not that 
I blame the authors of these works ; far otherwise ; I blame 
you, if you suppose that such measures are all you have to 
execute. As regards individual conduct — your men in office 
have (some of them) made their private houses, not only more 
ostentatious than the multitude, but more splendid than the 
public buildings ; others are farming land which they have 
purchased of such an extent, as once they never hoped for in a 
dream. 

" The cause of this difference is, that formerly the people were 
lords and masters of all ; any individual citizen was glad to 
receive from them his share of honor, office, or profit. Now, 
on the contrary, these persons are the disposers of emoluments; 

some god, with an inscription showing the names of the conquerors and the 
conquered. 

1 That is, an absence of competitors. 

2 What this refers to is unknown. It has been suggested, that Athens 
may have sent supplies of corn for the relief of certain Greek cities. 

3 The Propylaea, which could be seen from the Pnyx, where the people 
assembled, and were pointed to by the orator. This was an ornamental 
fortification in front of the Acropolis, considered the most beautiful struc- 
ture in Athens. It was constructed of white marble, at an immense expense, 
in the time of Pericles, and took five years in building. For a particular 
description of the public buildings of Athens, see my Compendium of Grecian 
Antiquities, Part 1, Chapter 2d. 



238 DEMOSTHENES. [b. c. 382-322. 

everything is clone by their ageney ; the people are treated as 
underlings and dependents, and you are happy to take what 
these men allow you for your portion. 



EXORDIUM OF THE ORATION ON THE CROWN. 

Let me begin, Men of Athens, by imploring, of all the 
Heavenly Powers, that the same kindly sentiments which I 
have, throughout my public life, cherished towards this country 
and each one of you, may now by you be shown towards me 
in the present contest ! In two respects my adversary plainly 
has the advantage of me. First, we have not the same interests 
at stake : it is by no means the same thing for me to forfeit 
your esteem, and for iEschlnes, an unprovoked volunteer, to 
fail in his impeachment. My other disadvantage is, the natural 
proneness of men to lend a pleased attention to invective and 
accusation, but to give little heed to him whose theme is his 
own vindication. To my adversary, therefore, falls the part 
which ministers to your gratification, while to me there is only 
left that which, I may almost say, is distasteful to all. And 
yet, if I do not speak of myself and my own conduct, I shall 
appear defenceless against his charges, and without proof that 
my honors were well earned. This, therefore, I must do ; but 
it shall be with moderation. And bear in mind that the blame 
of my dwelling on personal topics must justly rest upon him 
who has instituted this personal impeachment. 

At least, my judges, you will admit that this question con- 
cerns me as much as Ctesiphon, and justifies on my part an 
equal anxiety. To be stripped of any possession, and more 
especially by an enemy, is grievous to bear; but to be robbed 
of your confidence and esteem — of all possessions the most 
precious — is indeed intolerable. Such, then, being my stake 
in this cause, I conjure you all to give ear to my defence 
against these charges, with that impartiality which the laws 
enjoin — those laws first given by Solon, and which he fixed, 
not only by engraving them on brazen tables, but by the sanc- 
tion of the oaths you take when sitting in judgment ; because 
he perceived that, the accuser being armed with the advantage 
of speaking first, the accused can have no chance of resisting 
his charges, unless you, his judges, keeping the oath sworn 
before Heaven, shall receive with favor the defence which comes 
last, and, lending an equal ear to both parties, shall thus make 
up your minds upon the whole of the case. 



B. C. 382-322.] DEMOSTHENES. 239 

But, on this day, when I am about to render up an account, 
as it should seem, of my whole life, both public and private, I 
would again, as in the outset, implore the gods, and in your 
presence pour out to them my supplications — first, to grant 
me at your hands the same kindness, in this conflict, which I 
have ever borne towards our country and all of you ; and next, 
that they may incline you all to pronounce upon this impeach- 
ment the decision which shall best consult the glory of the 
State, and the religious obligations of each individual judge ! 

Lord Brotcgham. 



ADDRESS TO JESCHINES. 

Unhappy man ! If it be the public disasters which have 
given you such audacity, and which, on the contrary, you ought 
to lament, together with me, I challenge you to exhibit a 
single instance in which I have contributed to the misfortune. 
Wherever I have been ambassador, have the envoys of Philip 
had any advantage over me ? No, never ; not in any place, 
neither in Thessaly, nor Thrace, nor Byzantium, nor Thebes, 
nor Illyricum. But that which I accomplished by words, Philip 
overturned by force ; and you complain of me for this, and do 
not blush to demand of me an account of it. This same 
Demosthenes whom you represent to be so feeble a man, you will 
have it, ought to have prevailed over the armies of Philip ; 
and with what ? with words ! for I had only words to use ; I 
had not the disposal of the arms, nor the fortune of any one. 
I had no military command, and no one but you has been so 
senseless as to demand from me the reason of it. But what 
could, what ought an Athenian orator to have done ? To 
see the evil in its birth, to make others see it, and that is what 
I have done. To prevent as far as it was possible the delays, 
the false pretences, the opposition of interests, the mistakes, 
the faults, the obstacles of every species so common amidst 
republics jealous of each other : and that is what I have done. 
To oppose to all these difficulties zeal, promptness, love of duty, 
friendship, concord : and that is what I have done. On any 
of these points, I defy any one to find me in fault ; and if they 
ask me how Philip has prevailed, all the world will answer for 
me : by his arms which have invaded everything ; by his gold 
which has corrupted everything. It was not in my power to 
combat either the one or the other ; I had neither treasures nor 
soldiers : but as far as was in my power, I dare say this, I have 



240 DEMOSTHENES. [b. c. 382-322. 

conquered Philip — and, how ? by refusing his presents, by re- 
fusing to be bribed. When a man allows himself to be bought, 
the buyer may say that he has triumphed over him ; but he who 
lives incorruptible, may say that he has triumphed over the 
corrupter. So then as much as it depended on- Demosthenes, 
Athens has been victorious, Athens has been invincible. 



PUBLIC SPIRIT OF THE ATHENIANS. 

You, Athenians, were never known to live contented in a 
slavish though secure obedience to unjust and arbitrary power. 
No. Our whole history is a series of gallant contests for pre- 
eminence : the whole period of our national existence hath 
been spent in braving dangers, for the sake of glory and re- 
nown. And so highly do you esteem such conduct, as cha- 
racteristic of the Athenian spirit, that those of your ancestors 
who were most eminent for it are ever the most favorite objects 
of your praise. And with reason : for, who can reflect, with- 
out astonishment, on the magnanimity of those men who 
resigned their lands, gave up their city, and embarked in their 
ships, rather than live at the bidding of a stranger ? The 
Athenians of that day looked out for no speaker, no general, 
to procure them a state of easy slavery. They had the spirit 
to reject even life, unless they were allowed to enjoy that life 
in freedom. For it was a principle fixed deeply in every 
breast, that man was not born to his parents only, but to his 
country. And mark the distinction. He who regards himself 
as born only to his parents waits in passive submission for the 
hour of his natural dissolution. He who considers that he is 
the child of his country, also, volunteers to meet death rather 
than behold that country reduced to vassalage ; and thinks 
those insults and disgraces which he must endure, in a state 
enslaved, much more terrible than death. 

Should I attempt to assert that it was I who inspired you 
with sentiments worthy of your ancestors, I should meet the 
just resentment of every hearer. !No : it is my point to show 
that such sentiments are properly your own ; that they were 
the sentiments of my country long before my days. I claim 
but my share of merit in having acted on such principles in 
every part of my administration. He, then, who condemns 
every part of my administration — he who directs you to treat 
me with severity, as one who hath involved the state in terrors 
and dangers — while he labors to deprive me of present honor, 






b. c. 389-314.] jeschines. 241 

robs you of the applause of all posterity. For, if you now 
pronounce, that, as my public conduct hath not been right, 
Ctesiphon must stand condemned, it must be thought that you 
yourselves have acted wrong, not that you owe your present 
state to the caprice of fortune. But it cannot be ! No, my 
countrymen, it cannot be that you have acted wrong in encoun- 
tering danger bravely for the liberty and safety of all Greece. 
No! I swear it by the spirits of our sires, who rushed upon 
destruction at Marathon ! — by those who stood arrayed at 
Plataea !— by those who fought the sea-fight at Salamis ! — by 
the men of Artemisium ! — by the others, so many and so brave, 
who now rest in our public sepulchres ! — all of whom their 
country judged worthy of the same honor ; all, T say, JEschines; 
not those only who prevailed, not those only who were victo- 
rious. — And with reason. What was the part of gallant men, 
they all performed. Their success was such as the Supreme 
Ruler of the world dispensed to each. 

Lord Brougham. 



JESCHINES. 
389—314 b. c. 



This able Athenian orator is immortalized rather as the rival of 
Demosthenes, than from his few orations — hut three in number — ■ 
which, have come down to us. He was a native of Attica, and of 
rather humble but respectable parentage. In early life he made an 
unsuccessful attempt as an actor, and afterwards began to take an 
interest in politics, in which he soon distinguished himself; but the 
violence with which he opposed the party of Demosthenes created a 
suspicion that he had been bribed to support the interests of Philip 
of Macedon ; for this prince and the Athenians becoming mutually 
tired of war, an embassy was sent from Athens to propose conditions 
of peace. Demosthenes and iEschines were appointed commissioners 
to exact from Philip the necessary oaths. The former accused the 
latter of betraying his trust in this important embassy; of having 
been suborned to forward the king's interests ; and of circulating at 
Athens false reports, in consequence of which no exertions were made 
to prevent Phocis from falling into the power of Philip. After the 
death of this monarch, Ctesiphon proposed to reward Demosthenes for 
the services he had rendered to his country, with a golden crown in 
21 



242 -ffiSGHlNES. [b. C. 389-314. 

the theatre, at the great Dionysia ; whereupon iEschines came forward 
and made his celebrated speech against Ctesiphon. The charges were 
three : the first, that Ctesiphon had proposed a bill unlawfully decree- 
ing a crown to Demosthenes ; the second, that he had acted illegally 
in proposing that Demosthenes should be crowned in the theatre ; the 
third, that the character of Demosthenes himself was such as to render 
him unworthy of any public honor. This trial produced from Demos- 
thenes the most elaborate and eloquent of all his speeches — the De 
Corona ; he gained his cause triumphantly, and iEschines, not having 
a fifth part of the votes, was banished from Athens, and retired to 
Rhodes. Here he opened a school of rhetoric, and it is worthy of note 
that his first essay before his scholars in rhetorical recitation, was the 
recital of the two speeches that caused his condemnation. When he 
had finished reading the speech of Demosthenes, and the greatest ap- 
plause was given to it, he very ingenuously exclaimed, " If you praise 
it thus from my reading it, what would you have said had you heard 
Demosthenes himself deliver it ?" 

From Rhodes iEschines went to Samos, where he died B. C. 314. 
He wrote three orations and nine epistles, of which the former only 
are extant. They received the name of the Graces, as the latter did of 
the Muses. As an orator, he was inferior to none but Demosthenes. 
He was endowed by nature with extraordinary rhetorical powers, of 
which his orations, in boldness and vigor of description, and in facility 
and felicity of diction, afford abundant proofs. As to his being bribed 
by Philip, there is not the slightest ground for believing it ; nor that 
he recommended peace with Macedon from any other motive than 
the desire of promoting the good of his country. 1 



PRACTICES OF THE EARLY ATHENIANS IN BESTOWING PUBLIC 
HONORS. 

Since I have mentioned crowns and rewards, I must, men 
of Athens, while it is in my mind, foretell you, that unless you 
put an end to this profusion of rewards and crowns bestowed 
at random, the event will be, that neither those who are so 
honored will set much value upon your favors, nor will the 

1 Editions : In Reiske's edition of the Attic Orators, Leipsic, 1771, iEs- 
chines occupies the third volume. The best editions are those of Bekker, in 
volume iii. of his Oratores Attici, Oxford, 1822; and of F. H. Bremi, Zurich, 
1823, two volumes. His orations have been translated into English by 
Andrew Portal and illustrated with notes, Oxford, 1775. The oration 
against Ctesiphon has been published with English notes, by Dr. Arnold. 



b. c. 389-314.] ^schines. 243 

affairs of the city be ever better administered. For such a 
proceeding will not make the bad citizen better, while it drives 
the good into utter despair. That there is great truth in this 
observation, I think I can now bring you strong arguments to 
prove. For if it were asked, whether the city appears to you 
more illustrious in its present state, or under our ancestors ? 
You would unanimously agree in saying, "Under our ances- 
tors." Or whether the men in those days were better than 
they are in the present ? You will all say, " They were then 
very extraordinary, but now very greatly degenerate." Or 
whether public rewards, crowns, honorary proclamations, and 
the right of commons in the Prytaneum were oftener conferred 
than now ? It must be confessed, that in those days distin- 
guished honors were scarce, and the name of virtue was valu- 
able and precious ; but now they are become vile, and of no 
esteem : and you confer crowns without judgment or distinc- 
tion, by mere rote and custom. 

I will now make you sensible, that what I say is right, by 
somewhat a still plainer example. Whether do you think 
Themistocles the better man, who commanded when you con- 
quered the Persians in the fight at Salamis ; or Demosthenes, 
who deserted his post at Chseronea? Whether Miltiades, who 
conquered the Barbarians in the battle of Marathon, or this 
same coward ? Do you count him more worthy than those 
heroes who brought the people back from their flight to Phyle, 
or than Aristides, surnamed the just ; an appellation unlike 
what is given Demosthenes. For my own part, I should not 
think it fit (by all the Olympian powers) to mention this savage 
in the same day with those great men : and yet let Demos- 
thenes show you, when he is to speak, where it is ever recorded, 
that any of these men were crowned. Were the people un- 
grateful then ? No ; but rather magnanimous : And they who 
received not such honors were worthy sons of the city ; for they 
did not think it needful to be honored by the decrees, but in 
the memories of those whom they had well served. An honor 
which, from that time to this day, remains unfading and im- 
mortal. 

It is worth mentioning what honors were conferred in those 
days. There were some of our brave countrymen in those 
days, who, after long sufferings and great dangers, had over- 
come the Medes in battle at the river Strymon. They, at their 
return hither, petitioned the people for a reward, and the peo- 
ple granted them great honors (as they were then esteemed); 
viz., that three stone Mercuries should be erected for them in 



244 ^schines. [b. c. 389-314. 

the portico of the Mercuries. But it was ordered that they 
should not be inscribed with their names ; that the inscription 
might not seem to belong to the generals, but to the people. 
That I speak the truth, you shall learn from the verses engraved 
upon them, for this is the inscription upon the first Mercury : — 

Brave were the men, who late near Strymon's shore, 
On Media's sons with dauntless fury bore : 
Famine and death they dealt upon the foe, 
And taught them first their impotence to know. - 

This upon the second : — 

These honors Athens to their chiefs ordain'd, 
Grateful for service done, for glory gain'd. 
Succeeding ages viewing these shall feel 
More glowing ardor for the public weal : 
With emulation catch the gen'rous flame, 
Thro' toils and dangers rush to deathless fame. 

But upon the third Mercury is this inscription : — 

In days of old, when hence Menestheus led 

Athenian bands to Troja's sacred shores, 

With Atreus' sons ; then Homer, much-fam'd bard, 

Him sung renown'd in arms ; 'mougst warlike Greeks, 

A leader eminent, expert, and brave : — 

In noble deeds of war, and manly virtue, 

Still to be leaders is the pride of Athens. 

Is there anywhere mention made of the generals' names ? 
Nowhere ; but always the people's names. Let your imagina- 
tion then convey you likewise into the portico called Pascile ; 
for- monuments of all the famous exploits of your ancestors are 
preserved in the forum. Do you ask me why I send you 
thither, Athenians? Why, that there you may see the battle 
of Marathon painted : Who was the general ? There is not 
one of you but could answer, Miltiades ; yet his name is not 
inscribed there : How ! Did not he request this honor ? He 
did ; but the people did not grant it ; but instead of mentioning 
his name, permitted him to be painted foremost at the head of 
his army, exhorting the soldiers to their duty. 



DEMOSTHENES VEHEMENTLY DENOUNCED. 

Let me here say, Athenians, that I am neither ambitious of 
imitating the practices of Demosthenes, nor ashamed of my 
own. I would not wish anything that I have said amongst 



B. c. 389-314.] ^chines. 245 

you, unsaid ; nor would I covet longer life, if I had held such 
discourses as this man's. My silence, Demosthenes, is the 
effect of my moderation and frugality. A slender fortune con- 
tents me ; and T covet not more upon dishonorable conditions : 
So that I am silent, or speak, as I think it advisable ; and am 
not necessitated to it by the prodigality of my nature. You, 
I believe, are silent when your mouth is stopped, but when the 
money is consumed you open it wide again : So you neither 
speak when, nor what you please, but when those who hire you 
please to command you. Nor are you ashamed to maintain 
confidently such things as are immediately proved to your face 
to be pure inventions of your own. 

Let me further say, Athenians, that your present conduct 
surprises me : for I should be glad to know what considerations 
can move you to acquit this edict. Is it because it is conform- 
able to the laws ? But never was any decree more illegal. Or 
is it because he that wrote the edict was not worthy of punish- 
ment? But you can never hereafter call any one to an account 
for his behavior if you dismiss this man. And would it not 
grieve one to think that formerly the orchestra was filled with 
golden crowns, which were presented to the people by the 
states of Greece, because this day was set apart for receiving 
hospital crowns : but now, by the management of Demosthenes, 
you go uncrowned and unpraised, whilst his praises are pub- 
licly proclaimed ? If any of those tragic poets, whose per- 
formances are there exhibited, should represent Thersites, in a 
tragedy, crowned by the Greeks, none of you would bear with 
it, because Homer calls him a coward and a scurrilous broacher 
of calumnies. And when you yourselves crown the very fellow 
to him in the same place, do you think the Grecians will not 
hiss at you in their hearts? Your ancestors were ever wont to 
ascribe the greatest and most splendid actions to the people, 
but cast all the blame of the meanest and most defective upon 
knavish orators ; but Ctesiphon thinks proper to take off in- 
famy from Demosthenes, by transferring it upon the people. 
You say too that you are much indebted to fortune, and well 
you may, for so indeed you are : Yet you will testify, by a 
public act, that you have been abandoned by fortune, but pre- 
served by Demosthenes. 

And let me here, Athenians, in presence of you all, ask 
the writer of this edict for what services he dignifies Demos- 
thenes with a crown. For if you say, Ctesiphon (as you have 
set forth in the beginning of your edict), that he has well de- 

21* 



246 ^schines. [b. c. 389-314. 

fended the walls with good ditches, I wonder at your plea ; for 
the having well executed this work is a merit far inferior to 
the guilt of having rendered it necessary. For not he that has 
fortified walls, or dug ditches, or built public sepulchres, has a 
right to claim the reward of a good statesman ; but he, and he 
only, who has been the author of some benefit to his country. 
But if you come to the second part of the edict, in which you 
have audaciously affirmed that he is a good man, and persists 
to counsel, and do the best for the Athenian people ; omit 
all the fulsome pageantry of words, and come to facts. Give 
us proofs of what you say. I waive his taking bribes of the 
Amphissans and Euboeans : But when you ascribe to Demos- 
thenes the merit of procuring us the alliance of the Thebans, 
you deceive the ignorant, and offer an insult to the understand- 
ings of those who have any knowledge of the matter ; for wil- 
fully suppressing the urgency of the conjuncture, and robbing 
these our citizens of the merit of their glory, upon whose ac- 
count the confederacy was made, you think not to be detected 
in transferring the city's merit to Demosthenes. 

Are you not then ashamed, I say, Athenians, to present a 
golden crown to Demosthenes, who has not brought gold, in- 
deed, from the Medes, but has scraped together, and actually 
enjoys a large store acquired by bribery on all hands. Can 
you think that Themistocles likewise, and those who fell at 
Marathon, and at Platsea; nay, can you think the very sepul- 
chres of your ancestors will not yawn, and burst forth into 
groans, if this man should be crowned, who confesses that he 
conspires with the Barbarians against the Grecians ? 

Be ye, O Earth! O Sun! O Virtue! and ye Prudence and 
Learning, by which we distinguish things honest from base ; be 
ye all my witnesses, I have pleaded my country's cause; and I 
have done. If I have fairly proved my charge, and set forth 
the crime in its true degree of guilt, I have spoken as well as 
I wished ; but if I have fallen short of this, I have done ray 
duty as well as I could. It is now your part, both from what 
has been, and what further might have been said, to pass an 
upright sentence, and such as shall conduce to the public 
good. 



B. c 374-287.] THEOPHRASTUS. 247 



THEOPHRASTUS. 
374—287 b. c. 

The philosopher whom Aristotle himself characterized as the most 
learned and the ablest of his auditors, and the one most suitable to be 
his successor and heir, was Theophrastus. He was a native of Eresus 
in Lesbos, and was born about the year 374 B. C. He devoted his 
youth to the study of philosophy, and wben he arrived at manhood he 
left his native city and went to Athens, placing himself first under the 
guidance of Plato, but afterwards of Aristotle. On the death of his 
great master he opened a school of his own, and it is said that at one 
time he had as many as two thousand disciples around him, and 
among them such men as the comic poet Menander. His success con- 
tinued with but little abatement nearly to the year of his death, B. C. 
287, at the advanced age of eighty-seven. Towards the close of life 
he grew exceedingly infirm, and was carried to his school on a couch. 
He expressed great regret at the shortness of life, and complained that 
nature had not given* longer life to man, who in a longer duration 
might have been able to attain the summit of science ; whereas now, 
as soon as he arrives within sight of it, he is taken away. 1 

But very few of Theophrastus' numerous writings have come down 
to us. He wrote treatises on Logic, Metaphysics, Meteorology, Natural 
Philosophy, Botany, Natural History, Oratory, Poetry, Morals, &c. Of 
these, the only one that has been preserved, besides his treatises on 
Natural History, is his book of "Characters" (hQmoi Xa^atirn^g), and 
some fragments. His ethical pieces, or "Characters," possess great 
worth, being written with brevity and eloquence. They are stamped 
with truth, and evince much knowledge of human nature. From this 
work I make the following selections : — 2 

1 One of his beautiful remarks was, "Blushing is the complexion of 
virtue." 

2 These selections are taken from the following work, which I prepared in 
the winter term of my junior year at Dartmouth College, and the printing 
of which I superintended in the spring vacation, April, 1826 : " The Moral 
Characters of Theophrastus in the Graeca Majora, literally translated into 
English ; to which are subjoined explanatory and philological notes : for the 
use of students. Andover, printed at the Codnian Press, by Flagg & Gould, 
1826, octavo, pp. 36." The Greek text, the translation, and the notes, are 
on the same page. It was published anonymously ; but my initials, X A. K., 
were at the end of the preface. 



248 theohirastus. [b. c. 374-287. 



ON FLATTERY. 

One may consider flattery to be a base sort of an intercourse 
designed to promote the interests of the flatterer. The flatterer 
himself is one who, when he walks in company with you, says — 
11 Do you take notice how all the people are gazing at you ? 
There is no other person in this city so honored as yourself. 
Yesterday you were spoken very highly of at the Portico ;* for 
when there were more than thirty of us sitting around, the 
question being accidentally started, who has the most eminent 
character in the whole city, all beginning with your very name 
unanimously concluded upon the same." A thousand such 
things as these he is constantly telling you. Then he begins 
to pick the lint from your clothes ; and if by chance any straw 
be wafted by the wind upon the curls of your head, he care- 
fully takes it off, and laughing, says — " Do you see? because I 
have not met you for two days, you have had a beard full of gray 
hairs ; whereas if any person has black hair, you surely have 
for your years." When you are making any observation, he 
commands all those present to be silent, and commends him 
who listens; and when you stop speaking he applauds what 
you have said — " "Very fine, very fine." When you utter a jest 
he laughs most heartily, and thrusts his coat into his mouth, 
as if he could not suppress his laughter. He says to those 
that meet you in the street — " Stop — wait till he has gone by." 
He buys apples and pears for your children, and carrying them 
into your house, distributes them, while you are looking on, 
and kissing the little ones, exclaims, "Darling offspring of an 
incomparable father!" When you are purchasing shoes in 
company with him, he says that your own foot is of a far 
handsomer shape than any shoe can be. When you are about 
to pay a visit to any of your friends, the flatterer runs on 
before, and says — "The great man is coming ;" and then turn- 
ing back, says, "I have announced you." Nay, he can even 
serve you, at a breath, with any trifle from the woman's market. 
He is the first of your guests to praise the wine, and keeping 
close at your side, says, "How delicately you eat :" then taking 
something from the table and holding it up to the company, 

1 The Porticos were public edifices, supported by long rows of pillars, and 
designed for study or conversation. One of these being used especially by 
the philosopher Zeno, his followers were called, from the Greek word (7Tca, 
stoa), Stoics. 



B. C. 374-287.] THEOPHRASTUS. 249 

says, "How very fine this is!" Then he asks you if you be 
not cold, and if he shall not put something more over you, at 
the same time covering you with some garment. Then, stoop- 
ing forward he whispers into your ear, and even while con- 
versing with others, keeps his eyes fixed on you. In the theatre 
he takes the cushions from the servant and spreads them under 
you himself. He says that your house is finely built ; your 
garden beautifully laid out, and that your picture is most 
beautiful and just like you. In short, the flatterer is con- 
tinually saying and doing those things by which he thinks he 
shall gain favor. 



ON SUPERSTITION. 

Superstition may properly be considered as a servile fear of 
the Deity. The superstitious man is one who, after he has 
washed his hands and besprinkled himself with holy water, and 
taken a sprig of laurel in his mouth, walks about in this manner 
all day. If a weasel should run across the road, he does not 
advance until some person shall have passed, or until he shall 
have thrown three stones across the way. If he sees a serpent 
in his house he erects an altar on the very spot. As he passes 
by the consecrated stones, placed where three ways meet, he 
pours out oil from his cruet upon them ; and after he has fallen 
upon his knees and worshipped, he retires. If a mouse should 
gnaw a hole through a bag of meal, he goes to the augur and 
asks him, what it is best to do ? and should he make answer to 
him, that he ought to give it to the cobbler to sew up, not 
paying any regard to this advice, after he has returned home, 
he lays it aside. He frequently purifies his house — never walks 
over a grave — never approaches a dead body, or a woman in 
her confinement. Whenever he sees a vision, he goes to the 
interpreters of dreams, the soothsayers, or the augurs, to in- 
quire to what god or goddess he ought to pay his devotions. 
When he is to be instructed in the mysteries, he goes to the 
Orpheotelesta? 1 every month, together with his wife : but if she 
be not at leisure, with the nurse and children. When he 

1 Orpheus introduced into Greece, certain rites of initiation, called 
O^ziaa) TiKiTia). Those who instructed in them, and presided at the initia- 
tions, were called Oppso i\iTr*\. To these the superstitious man goes with 
his family, at the end of every month (the time appointed for initiation) to 
learn the routine exactly. 



250 menander. [b. c. 342-291. 

passes by near three ways, lie washes his head all over: 1 having 
invited the priestesses to his house, he directs them to purify 
him by carrying around him an onion 2 or a little dog. 3 When 
he sees a lunatic, or one sick with the epilepsy, shuddering for 
fear, he spits into his bosom. 4 



MENANDER. 
342—291 b. c. 



Menander, of Athens, the most distinguished poet of the New 
Comedy, 5 was born about the year 342 B. C. Of the actual events of 

1 This act of ablution is performed in honor of Hecate, a goddess whom 
the Athenians particularly venerated. The connection between the meeting 
of three public roads, and this goddess, probably arose from the three offices 
which she sustained, and the three names by which she was called, viz., 
'ExaTtf, or Hecate, in hell; Ithwv, or the Moon, in heaven; and Ap-.tf.iie, or 
Diana, on earth. 

2 The onion was thought, by the Egyptians, to possess peculiar virtues, 
and was worshipped by them. 

3 The ancients often performed lustrations, by carrying a little dog round 
about the person to be purified ; and thought that no evil could ever after 
happen to him : the dog being an animal of defence, and there being no 
aperture in the circle for harm to enter. 

4 The spitting into the bosom, was one way to avert fascinations : for some 
omens were observed to be averted by spitting at them — an act of abhorrence 
and disgust. See my "Compendium of Grecian Antiquities," Part V. 
Chap. 13. 

5 Comedy among the Athenians was divided into the Old, the Middle, 
and the New. The Old Comedy began with Epicharmus of Cos, about 470 
B. C, and included five other poets, namely, Cratinus, Eupolis, Aristo- 
phanes, Pherecrates, and Plato the Comic, so called to distinguish him from 
the philosopher of the same name. Of all of these, except Aristophanes, we 
have nothing but fragments left. The chief subjects of the Old Comedy 
were, passing events, the politics of the day, the characters and deeds of 
leading chiefs ; in short, everything pertaining to public and private affairs. 
No citizens were secure from its attacks, and it was obviously liable to great 
abuse, as we have seen in the treatment of Socrates by Aristophanes. It 
continued until the time of the Thirty Tyrants, B. C. 404, when a law 
was enacted prohibiting the use of living characters and real names, and 
also of the Parabasis (7rct£x/?A?ic) of the Chorus.* Then arose the Middle 
Comedy, the chief peculiarity of which was the exclusion of personal satire. 
It consisted, in a considerable degree, of parodies of other poets. Of this 
we have but a few insignificant scraps left, from Aristophanes of Rhodes, and 
Alexis of Thurii. The New Comedy belongs wholly to the Alexandrian 
period of Greek literature. In this the Chorus wholly disappeared, and 

* la which the Chorus came forward and addressed the audience in the poet's 
name. See note on page 186. 



B. C. 342-291.] MENANDER. 251 

his life we know but lit le. He enjoyed the friendship of Demetrius 
Phalereus, whose attentiou was first drawn to him by admiration of 
his works. As to the manner of his death all are agreed, that he 
was drowned while swimming in the harbor of the Piraeus, about 
291 B. C. 

Menander began to write about the age of twenty, and is said to J, 
have composed one hundred plays, of which we possess but a very 
few fragments. The loss of his pieces is the more to be regretted, as 
they are spoken of by the ancients with great admiration. The high 
praise bestowed upon him by Quintilian attests, of itself, his great 
merit. Some idea of his manner may be obtained from the imitations 
of him in Terence ; and Cumberland, in the one hundred and fiftieth 
number of the Observer, has some judicious and excellent remarks 
upon his plays, accompanied with select fragments, from which we 
take the following : — 



RIDICULE OF THE PAGAN CEREMONIES OF LUSTRATION. 

If your complaints were serious, 'twould be well 
You sought a serious cure ; but for weak minds 
Weak medicines suffice. Go, call around you 
The women with their purifying water ; 
Drug it with salt and lentils, and then take 
A treble sprinkling from the holy mess : 
Now search your heart ; if that reproach you not, 
Then, and then only, you are truly pure. 



LIFE. 

The lot of all most fortunate is his, 

Who, having stayed just long enough on earth 

To feast his sight with the fair face of Nature, 

Sun, sea, and clouds, and heaven's bright starry fires, 

Drops without pain into an early grave. 

For what is life, the longest life of man, 

But the same scene repeated o'er and o'er ? 

A few more lingering days to be consumed 

In throngs and crowds, with sharpers, knaves, and thieves ; — 

From such the speediest riddance is the best. 

instead of indulging in personal satire with the use of real names like the 
Old, or turning into ludicrous parodies the verses and themes of other poets 
like the middle, aimed more to paint manners. " The New Comedy," says 
Schlegel, "is a mixture of seriousness and mirth. The poet no longer turns 
poetry and the world into ridicule, but endeavors to discover what is ridicu- 
lous in the objects themselves; painting what occasions mirth both in cha- 
racters and situations." For some remarks on the Theatre of the Greeks, 
see my " Compendium of Grecian Antiquities," Part VI. Chapter 10. 



252 mexander. [b. c, 342-291. 



NATURE OF ENVY. 

Thou seem'st to me, young man, not to perceive 
That everything contains within itself 
The seeds and sources of its own corruption : 
The cankering rust corrodes the brightest steel : 
The moth frets out your garment, and the worm 
Eats its slow way into the solid oak ; 
But Envy, of all evil things the worst, 
The same to-day, to-morrow, and forever, 
Saps and consumes the heart in which it lurks. 



TRUE USE OF RICHES. 

Weak is the vanity, that boasts of riches, 

For they are fleeting things ; were they not such, 

Could they be yours to all succeeding time, 

'Twere wise to let none share in the possession ; 

But, if whate'er you have is held of Fortune, 

And not of right inherent, why, my father, 

Why with such niggardly jealousy engross 

What the next hour may ravish from your grasp, 

And cast into some worthless favorite's lap ? 

Snatch then the swift occasion while 'tis yours ; 

Put this unstable boon to noble uses ; 

Foster the wants of men, impart your wealth, 

And purchase friends ; 'twill be more lasting treasure, 

And, when misfortune comes, your best resource. 



RICHES NO BAR TO CARE. 

Ne'er trust me, Phanias, but I thought till now, 
That you rich fellows had the knack of sleeping 
A good sound nap, that held you for the night ; 
And not like us poor rogues, who toss and turn, 
Sighing "Ah mel'' > and grumbling at our duns : 
But now I find, in spite of all your money, 
You rest no better than your needy neighbors, 
And sorrow is the common lot of all. 



KNOW THYSELF AND OTHERS. 

You say, not always wisely, "Know Thyself!' 
Know others, oftentimes, is the better maxim. 



B. C. 270 ] THEOCRITUS. 253 



BAD TEMPER. 

Of all bad things, by which mankind are curst, 
Their own bad tempers surely are the worst. 



THEOCRITUS. 

FLOURISHED ABOUT 270 B. C. 

This celebrated pastoral and epigrammatic poet was a native of Syra- 
cuse, and in early life passed some time in Magna Grsecia, and at the 
island of Cos. Afterwards he went to Alexandria, in Egypt, on the 
invitation of Ptolemy Philadelphus, whose eulogium he composed, 
and at whose court he became acquainted with some of the most pro- 
minent poets and scholars of the age. 1 After spending some years at 
Alexandria, he returned to his native island, Sicily, where he died, 
but at what precise period is not known. 

Theocritus, whom Virgil has closely imitated in his Bucolics, was 
the father of bucolic poetry as a branch of Greek literature. He 
wrote in the Doric dialect, which in his hands became soft and 
flowing, and his poetry is marked by the strength and vivacity of 
original genius. Everything is distinct, peculiar, individualized, and 
brought strongly and closely to the eye and understanding of the 
reader, so as to stamp the impression of reality. His humor is chiefly 
shown in the portraiture of middle rank, city life : where it abounds 
with strokes of character that are not confined to ancient times or 
national peculiarities, but suit all ages and all climates. " That which 
distinguishes him," says Dryden, "from all other poets, both Greek 
and Latin, and which raises him even above Virgil in his Eclogues, is 
the inimitable tenderness of his passions, and the natural expressions 
of them in words so becoming a pastoral. A simplicity shines through- 
out all he writes. He is softer than Ovid, and touches the passions 
more delicately. Even his Doric dialect has an incomparable sweet- 
ness in its clownishness, like a fair shepherdess in her country russet, 
and with her Yorkshire tone. This it was impossible for Virgil to imi- 

1 It was about this time that the celebrated version of the Hebrew Scrip- 
tures — "the Septuagint," was made at Alexandria. 
22 



254 THEOCRITUS. [b. c. 270. 

tate, because the severity of the Roman language had denied him that 
advantage. Spenser had endeavored it in his 'Shepherd's Calendar,' 
but it can never succeed in English." 

According to Pope, Theocritus "excels all others in nature and sim- 
plicity; his dialect alone has a secret charm in it, which no writer 
besides could ever attain :" and Wharton observes, " There are few 
images and sentiments in the Eclogues of Virgil, but what are drawn 
from the Idyls of Theocritus ; in whom there is a rural, romantic wild- 
ness of thought, heightened by the Doric dialect, with such lively 
pictures of the passions, and of simple unadorned nature, as are in- 
finitely pleasing." 

The collection of poetry that we possess under the name of Theo- 
critus, consists of thirty Idyls 1 and twenty-two epigrams, which it is 
said were first collected by the grammarian Artemidorus, B. C. 180. 2 
The following will give some idea of his manner and spirit : — 

THE YOUNG HERCULES. 

It chanced upon a time, when Hercules 

Was ten months old, him with his brother twin, 

The younger by a night, when freshly bathed, 

And suckled full with milk, Alcmena placed 

Within the brazen shield Amphitryon stripp'd 

From Pteleraus, when he fell in fight. 

Then the fair woman, touching with her hand 

The head of both the infants, whisper'd thus : 

" Sleep, oh my boys ! a gentle sleep : the sleep 

That wakes again : sleep, sweetest souls ! dear twins ! 

Sleep, happy brothers ! happy till the dawn !" 

She spoke, and rock'd the ample shield ; and them 
Sleep overcame. But, when in middle night 
The Bear turn'd westering, near Orion's star, 
And he his shoulder broad display'd in heaven, 
Then, brooding many mischiefs, Juno sent 
Two heinous monsters : rustling, as they roll'd, 
On azure spires, they, 'twixt the hollow chinks 
Of the wide mansion's gate-posts, glided in 
Athwart the threshold, goaded by her threats, 
There to devour the infant Hercules. 
They, grovelling on the earth, still roll'd along 
On their blood-pamper'd bellies : as they went 

1 What the Greek termed Idyls we might call, perhaps, "Fugitive 
Poetry." 

2 Editions: Wharton's, Oxford, 4to. 1770; Brunck's, 4to. 1772; Hein- 
dorfs, 8vo. 1810; Jacob's, Halle, 1826; Meineke's, 12mo. Leipsic, 1825. 
The English translations are by Creech, London, 1721 ; Fawkes, London, 
1767; Polwhele, Bath, 1792; Chapman, 1844. 



B. C. 270.] THEOCRITUS. 255 

They shot a flame malignant from their eyes, 

And dropp'd a poisonous foam. But when they came 

Close nigh the babes, with forky-quivering tongues 

Licking their gaping jaws, both waked at once ; 

Alcmena's darling children ; both, at once, 

Sprang up awake ; for they were in the eye 

Of all-o'erseeing Jove : and sudden light 

Flash'd through the chamber. One shriek'd out aloud, 

Feeling the noxious snakes, that slippery crept 

Within the hollow buckler's rim, and scared 

At their grim fangs : so struggling with his feet 

He discomposed the soft and woollen cloak, 

And spurn'd it loose from off him, and was fain 

To fly. The other faced them full, and seized 

With straining grasp, and bound them hard in knots, 

Squeezing the serpents' necks, abhorr'd of heaven, 

Where lurk'd the heinous poison. They their spires 

Coil'd round the later born and sucking babe, 

Who ne'er with tears had wet his nurse's breast ; 

And loosed again their writhing folds, and shrank 

With agonizing scales, and strove to slip 

From the constraining knot. Alcmena heard 

The tumult, and, first waking, sudden cried : 

" Rise, my Amphitryo ; for a shivering fear 

Seizes upon me : rise ; nor wait to bind 

The sandals on thy feet. Dost thou not hear 

Oui youngest son, how loud his cries ? and lo ! 

Discern 'st thou not, that in untimely night 

The walls are visible, as in the shine 

Of the clear morning ? something, husband dear ! 

Something of strange and of miraculous 

Is now within our dwelling : yea, even now." 

She said ; and he, complying with his spouse, 
Descended from the bed, and reach'd his hand 
To grasp in haste his high- wrought sword, that still 
Close at the cedar-framed couch's head, 
Hung on a nail : he snatch'd the twisted thong, 
And, with his left hand, drew the scabbard off, 
Fram'd of the lote-tree. Suddenly again 
The chamber sank in gloom : then loud he call'd 
The menials, breathing hard in slumbers deep : 
" Snatch quick a burning firebrand from the hearth, 
My servants ! haste, unbar your doors, and rise, 
My trusty servants !" so he call'd aloud ; 
And straight the menials came, each in his hand 
A flaming torch ; and all the house was fill'd 
With the wide-hastening throng. They, when they saw 
The little Hercules, who firmly grasp' d 
The two huge serpents in his straining hands, 
Shriek'd out : but he stretch'd in Amphitryon's view 
The gasping snakes ; and, in his joy, leap'd up 
Like a young child ; and laughingly before 



256 THEOCRITUS. [b. c. 2 TO. 

His father's feet east the fell monsters down, 
Lethargic now in death. Alcmena laid 
The froward Iphicles upon her breast ; 
The whilst Amphitryo placed the other babe 
Beneath the fleecy cloak : and sought again 
The bed, which he had left, and broken sleep. 



THYRSIS AND THE GOATHERD. 1 

Thy r sis. Yon breezy pine, whose foliage shades the springs, 
In many a vocal whisper sweetly sings ; 
Sweet too the murmurings of thy breathing reed : 
Thine, Goatherd, next to Pan, is music's meed. 

Goatherd. Sweeter thy warblings than the streams that glide 
Down the smooth rock, so musical a tide, 
If one white ewe reward the Muse's strain, 
A stall-fed lamb awaits the shepherd swain ; 
But if the gentler lambkin please the Nine, 
Then, tuneful Thyrsis, shall the ewe be thine. 

Thyrsis. Say, wilt thou rest thee on this shelving bed, 
By the cool tamarisk's shady bower o'erspread? 
Come, wilt thou charm the wood-nymphs with thy lay ? 
I'll feed thy goats, if thou consent to play. 

Goatherd. I dare not, shepherd, at the hour of noon, 
My pipe to rustic melodies attune. 
'Tis Pan we fear ; from hunting he returns 
As all in silence hushed the noon-day burns, 
And, tired, reposes 'mid the woodland scene. 
Whilst on his nostrils sits a bitter spleen. 
But come (since Daphnis' woes to thee are known, 
And well we deem the rural muse thy own), 
Let us at ease beneath that elm recline, 
Where sculptured Naiads o'er their fount recline, 
While gay Priapus guards the sweet retreat, 
And oaks' wide branches shade yon pastoral seat ; 
And Thyrsis, if thou sing so soft a strain 
As erst contending with the Libyan swain, 
Thrice shalt thou milk that goat for such a lay ; 
Two kids she rears, yet fills two pails a day. 
With this I'll stake (o'erlaid with wax it stands, 
And smells just recent from the graver's hands) 
My large two-handled cup, rich wrought and deep, 
Around whose rim pale ivy seems to creep, 
With helicruse 2 entwined ; small tendrils hold 
Its saffron fruit in many a clasping fold; 

1 Thyrsi?, at the request of his friend the Goatherd, sings the fate of 
Daphnis, who died for love ; and is rewarded for his song with a milch goat 
and a pastoral cup of most beautiful sculpture. 

3 A creeping plant bearing a yellow flower or fruit. 



b. c. 270.] tiieocritus. 257 

Witliin, high touched, a female figure shines, 

Her cawl, her vest — how soft the waving lines ! 

And near, two youths, bright ringlets grace their brows, 

Breathe in alternate strife their amorous vows. 

On each by turns the faithless fair one smiles, 

And views the rival pair with wanton wiles ; 

Brimful, through passion, swell their twinkling eyes, 

And their full bosoms heave with fruitless sighs ! 

Amidst the scene, a fisher, gray in years, 

On the rough summit of a rock appears, 

And laboring with one effort as he stands 

To throw his large net, drags it with both hands. 

So muscular his limbs attract the sight, 

You'd swear the fisher strained with all his might ; 

Round his hoar neck each swelling vein displays 

A vigor worthy youth's robuster days. 

Next, red-ripe grapes in bending clusters grow ; 

A boy to watch the vineyard sits below ; 

Two foxes round him skulk — this slyly gapes 

To catch a luscious morsel of the grapes, 

Whilst that in ambush, aiming at the scrip, 

Thinks it too sweet a moment to let slip, 

And cries, "It suits my tooth ; the little dunce, 

I'll send him dinnerless away for once." 

He, idly busy with his rush-bound reeds, 

Weaves locust-traps, nor scrip nor vineyard heeds. 

Flexile around its side the acanthus twined, 

Strikes as a miracle of art the mind. 

This cup (from Calydon it crossed the seas) 

I bought for a she goat and new-made cheese. 

As yet unsoiled, nor touched by lip of mine, 

My friend ! this masterpiece of wood be thine ! 

For thy loved hymn so sweet, a willing meed, 

Sure sweeter flows not from the pastoral reed ! 

Thyrsis. Begin, sweet Muses, the bucolic strain, 
'Tis Thyrsis sings, 'tis Thyrsis, ^Etna's swain ! 
Where were ye, Nymphs, in what sequester'd grove V 
Where were ye, Nymphs, when Daphnis pined with love ? 
Did ye on Pindus' steepy top reside, 
Or where through Tempe Peneus rolls his tide ? 
For neither were ye playing on the steeps 
Of iEtna, nor by famed Anapus' deeps, 
Nor yet where Acis laves Sicilian plains — 
(Begin, ye Nine, your sweet bucolic strains.) 

1 How exquisitely has Milton imitated this in his Lycidas ! 

" Where were ye, nymphs, when the remorseless deep 
Closed o'er the head of your loved Lycidas? 
For neither were you playing on the steep 

Where your old hards the famous Druids lie, 

Nor on the shaggy top of Mona high, 
Nor yet where Deva spreads her wizard stream." 

22* 



258 THEOCRITUS. [b. c. 270. 

Him savage panthers in wild woods deplor'd, 

For him fierce wolves and fiercer lions roar'd, 

Bulls, steers, and heifers wail'd their shepherd-swain — 

(Begin, ye Nine, your sweet bucolic strain.) 

First from the mountain winged Hermes came ; 

" Ah ! whence," he cried, " proceeds this fatal flame ? 

What Nymph, Daphnis, steals thy heart away ?" 

(Begin, ye Nine, the sweet bucolic lay.) 

The goatherds, hinds, and shepherds, all inquir'd 

What sorrow ail'd him, and what fever fir'd ? 

Priapus came, soft pity in his eye, 

" And why this grief," he said, " ah, Daphnis, why ?" — 

Silent he sate, consuming in his pain. 

(Begin, ye Nine, the sweet bucolic strain.) 

Next Venus' self the hapless youth addrest, 

With faint forc'd smiles, but anger at her breast : 

" Daphnis, you boasted you could Love subdue, 

But tell me, has not Love defeated you ? 

Alas, you sunk beneath his mighty sway." 

(Begin, ye Nine, the sweet bucolic lay.) 

"Ah, cruel Venus !" Daphnis thus began, 

" Venus abhorr'd ! Venus, thou curse to man ! 

Too true, alas ! thou say'st that Love has won ; 

Too sure thy triumphs mark my setting sun. 

Hence to thy swain, to Ida, queen, away !" 

(Begin, ye Nine, the sweet bucolic lay.) 

" There bowering oaks will compass you around, 

Here low cyperus scarcely shades the ground : 

Here bees with hollow hums disturb the day." 

(Begin, ye Nine, the sweet bucolic lay.) 

" Adonis feeds his flocks, though passing fair ; 

With his keen darts he wounds the flying hare, 

And hunts the beasts of prey through wood and plain." 

(Begin, ye Nine, the sweet bucolic strain.) 

" Say — if again arm'd Diomed thou see — 

I've conquered Daphnis, and now challenge thee : 

Dar'st thou, bold chief, with me renew the fray ?" 

•* ■* * * * * * 

(Cease, Muses, cease the sad bucolic strain.) — 

Now give me cup and goat, that I may drain 

Her milk, a sweet libation to the Nine — 

Another day a loftier song be mine ! 

Goatherd. be thy mouth with figs iEgilean fill'd, 
And drops of honey on thy lips distill 'd ! 
Thine is the cup (for sweeter far thy voice 
Than when in Spring the grasshoppers rejoice). 
Sweet is its smell, as though the blissful hours 
Had newly dipp'd it in their fragrant showers. 
Come, Ciss ! let Thyrsis milk thee — kids, forbear 
Your gambols — lo ! the wanton goat is there. 



B. C. 270.] THEOCRITUS. 259 



CHARACTER OF PTOLEMY PHILADELPHIA. 

What is his character ? A royal spirit 

To point out genius and encourage merit ; 

The poet's friend, humane, and good, and kind ; 

Of manners gentle, and of generous mind. 

He marks his friend, but more he marks his foe ; 

His hand is ever ready to bestow : 

Request with reason, and he'll grant the thing, 

And what he gives, he gives it like a king. l 



THE HONEY STEALER. 

As Cupid once, the arrant's 2 rogue alive, 
Robbed the sweet treasures of the fragrant hive, 
A bee the frolic urchin's finger stung. 
With many a loud complaint his hands he wrung 
Stamped wild the ground, his rosy finger blew, 
And straight in anguish to his mother flew : 
"Mother," he cried, in tears all frantic drowned, 
" 'Twas but a little bee, and what a wound !" 
But she, with smiles, her hapless boy surveyed, 
Ard thus, in chiding accents, sweetly said : 
41 Of thee a truer type is nowhere found, 
Who, though so little, giv'st so great a wound." 



EPITAPH ON EURYMEDON. 

Here doomed in early life to die, 
Eurymedon, thy relics lie ! 

1 Ptolemy Philadelphus was a prince of great learning, and a zealous pro- 
moter and encourager of it in others, an industrious collector of books, and 
a generous patron to all those who were eminent in any branch of literature. 
The fame of his generosity drew seven celebrated poets to his court, who, 
from their number, were called the Pleiades : these were Aratus, Theocritus, 
Callimachus, Lycophron, Apollonius, Nicander and Philicus. To him we 
are indebted for the Greek translation of the Scriptures, called the Septuagint. 
Notwithstanding his peculiar taste for the sciences, yet he applied himself 
with indefatigable industry to business, studying all possible methods to 
render his subjects happy, and raise his dominions to a flourishing condition. 
Athenseus called him the richest of all the princes of his age ; and Appian 
says, that as he was the most magnificent and generous of all kings in laying 
out his money, so he was of all the most skilful and industrious in raising it. 
He built an incredible number of cities, and left so many other public monu- 
ments of his magnificence, that all works of an extravagent taste and gran- 
deur were proverbially called Philadelphian works. 

2 For arrantest, or most arrant. 



260 TnEOCRiTus. [b. c. 270. 

Thy little wandering son we see, 
While the cold earth incloses thee. 
Yet is thy spirit with the blest, 
Enthroned amid the realms of rest ; 
And all shall watch, with duteous care 
For thy dear sake, the infant heir. 



THE DISTAFF. 1 

Distaff! quick implement of busy thrift, 
Which careful housewives ply, blue-eyed Athene's gift, 
We go to rich Miletus, where is seen 
The fane of Cypris 'mid the rushes green : 
Praying to mighty Zeus, for voyage fair, 
Thither to Nicias would I now repair, 
Delighting, and delighted by my host, 
Whom the sweet-speaking Graces love the most 
Of all their favorites ; thee, distaff bright ! 
Of ivory wrought, with art most exquisite, 
A present for his lovely wife I take. 
With her thou many various works shalt make ; 
Garments for men, and such as women wear, 
Of silk, whose color is the sea-blue clear. 
And she so diligent a housewife is, 
That ever, for well-ankled Theugenis, 
Thrice in a year are shorn the willing sheep 
Of the fine fleeces, which for her they keep. 
She loves what love right-minded women all ; 
For never should a thriftless prodigal 
Own thee with my consent ; 'twere shame and pity ! 
Since thou art of that most renowned city, 2 
Built by Corinthian Archias erewhile, 
The marrow of the whole Sicilian isle. 
But in the house of that physician wise, 
Instructed how by wholesome remedies 
From human kind diseases to repel, 
Thou shalt in future with Ionian s dwell, 
In beautiful Miletus ; that the fame 
For the best distaff Theugenis may claim, 
And thou mayst ever to her mind suggest 
The memory of her song-loving guest. 
The worth of offering from friend we prize, 
Not in the gift but in the giver lies. 

1 This sweet ditty was written to commend an ivory distaff, which the poet, 
about to sail for Miletus, intended as a present for Theugenis, the wife of 
Nicias, the physician. Under the semblance of teaching the distaff what 
sort of a mistress it is about to have, he cleverly and gracefully praises a 
most honorable matron and her husband. 

9 Syracuse, the capital of Sicily, said once to have had nearly a million of 
inhabitants. 



B. C. 264.] CLEANTHES. 261 



CLEANTHES. 

FLOURISHED ABOUT 264 B. C. 

Cleanthes, a stoic philosopher, was born at Assos in Troas, about 
300 B. C. He first placed himself under Crates, and then under Zeno, 
whose faithful disciple he continued for nineteen years. Being very 
poor, in order to pay his master the necessary fee for his instructions, 
he worked the greater part of the night in drawing water for gardens ; 
and as he spent the day in philosophical pursuits, and had no visible 
means of support, he was summoned before the court of Areopagus to 
account for his way of living. 1 The judges, on hearing his case, were 
so delighted with the evidences of his industry, which he produced, 
that they voted him ten minae, 2 though Zeno would not permit him to 
accept it. At the death of Zeno, B. C. 263, Cleanthes succeeded him 
in his school. His poverty was relieved by a present of 3000 minse 
from Antigonus. He died at the advanced age of eighty. 

Cleanthes wrote numerous treatises upon moral and philosophical 
subjects, but nothing is extant but his " Hymn to Zeus." This con- 
tains some exalted views of a Supreme Deity, and Dr. Doddridge has 
declared that " it is, perhaps, the finest piece of pure unadulterated 
natural religion to be found in the whole heathen world." 



HYMN TO JUPITER. 

Most glorious of th' immortal Powers above ! 
Oh thou of many names ! mysterious Jove ! 
For evermore Almighty ! Nature's source ! 
That govern'st all things in their order'd course ! 
All-hail to thee ! since, innocent of blame, 
E'en mortal creatures may address thy name ; 
For all that breathe, and creep the lowly earth, 
Echo thy being with reflected birth ; 
Thee will I sing, thy strength for aye resound : 
The universe, that rolls this globe around, 
Moves wheresoe'er thy plastic influence guides, 
And, ductile, owns the God whose arm presides. 

1 An admirable law ! What a scattering there would be if such an one 
were enforced in all our larger cities and towns. 

3 The Greek Mv* (Latin, Mina), was worth about eighteen dollars; but 
according to the value of money then, the ten minas would vow be worth 
$1000. 



262 cleanthes. [b. c. 264. 

The lightnings are thy ministers of ire ; 

The douhle-fork'd, and ever living fire ; 

In thy unconquerable hands they glow, 

And at the flash all nature quakes below. 

Thus, thunder-arrn'd, thou dost creation draw 

To one immense, inevitable law : 

And, with the various mass of breathing souls 

Thy power is mingled, and thy spirit rolls. 

Dread genius of creation ! all things bow 

To thee ; the universal monarch thou ! 

Nor aught is done without thy wise control, 

On earth, or sea, or round th' ethereal pole, 

Save when the wicked, in their frenzy blind, 

Act o'er the follies of a senseless mind. 

Thou curb'st th' excess ; confusion to thy sight 

Moves regular ; the unlovely scene is bright. 

Thy hand, educing good from evil, brings 

To one apt harmony the strife of things. 

One ever-during law still binds the whole, 

Though shunn'd, resisted, by the sinner's soul. 

Wretches ! while still they course the glittering prize, 

The law of God eludes their ears and eyes. 

Life then were virtue, did they this obey ; 

But wide from life's chief good they headlong stray. 

Now glory's arduous toils the breast inflame ; 

Now avarice thirsts, insensible of shame ; 

Now sloth unnerves them in voluptuous ease ; 

And the sweet pleasures of the body please. 

With eager haste they rush the gulf within, 

And their whole souls are center'd in their sin. 

But, oh, great Jove ! by whom all good is given ! 

Dweller with lightnings, and the clouds of heaven ! 

Save from their dreadful error lost mankind ! 

Father ! disperse these shadows of the mind ! 

Give them thy pure and righteous law to know ; 

Wherewith thy justice governs all below. 

Thus honor'd by the knowledge of thy way, 

Shall men that honor to thyself repay ; 

And bid thy mighty works in praises ring ; 

As well befits a mortal's lips to sing : 

More blest, nor men, nor heavenly powers, can be, 

Than when their songs are of thy law and thee ! 



B. 0. 260.] CALLIMACHUS. 263 



CALLIMACHUS. 

FLOURISHED ABOUT 260 B. C. 

Of the writings of this most distinguished grammarian, critic, and 
poet of the Alexandrian period, we have only a few hymns and in- 
scriptions. He was the keeper of the Alexandrian library under 
Ptolemy Philadelphus, and his son Ptolemy Euergetes, and improved 
the advantages which that great library afforded him, by writing a 
very comprehensive history of Greek literature, and other works of 
literary criticism, which, had they come down to us, would be of in- 
estimable value. But all these have perished. Of his poetical pro- 
ductions there are extant six Hymns, seventy-three Epigrams, and a 
few Elegies. 1 

THE VIRGIN'S OFFERING TO VENUS. 3 

A shell, Zephyritis, is all that I am, 

First fruits from Selena to thee. 
Time was, that a nautilus gayly I swam, 

And steer'd my light bark on the sea. 

Then hoisting my own little yards and my sail, 

I swam the soft breeze as it came, 
And rowed with my feet, if a calm did prevail, 

And thus, Cypris, got I my name. 

But cast by the waves on the Iulian shore, 

I am sent for a plaything to thee, 
Now lifeless ; the sea-loving halcyon no more 

Shall brood on the waters for me. 

Arsinoe ! oh, may all grace from thy hand 

On Clinias' daughter alight ; 
From Smyrna she sends in iEolia's land, 

And sweet be her gift in thy sight. 

<S. Trevor. 

1 Editions : J. A. Ernesti's, Leyden, 1761, two volumes ; Loesner's, Leipsic, 
1774, 8vo. ; Volzer's, Leipsic, 1817, 8vo. ; and C. F. Bloomfield's, London, 
1815. Translations: William Dodd, London, 4to., 1755; H. W. Tytler, 
London, 1793. 

2 It was a custom among the Greek girls on the eve of marriage, to con- 
secrate some favorite toy of their childish years to Venus, and happy might 
the bride esteem herself, if, like our Selena, the daughter of Clinias, she had 
it in her power to present, from her cabinet of shells and marine curiosities, 
a tribute so magnificent as that of the shining conch of the nautilus. The 
Venus Zephyritis (so called from the promontory of Zephyrion, near Alex- 
andria, where her temple stood) was also called Chloris and Arsinoe, and, 
in fact, was no other than the deified wife of Ptolemy Philadelphus. 



264 callimachus. [b. c. 260. 



ANOTHER VERSION OF THE SAME. 

Queen of the Zephyr's breezy cape ! to thee 
This polish'd shell, the treasure of the sea, 
Her earliest offspring young Selena bears, 
Join'd with the incense of her maiden prayers. 
Erewhile with motion, power, and sense endued, 
Alive it floated on the parent flood ; 
When, if the gale more rudely breathed, it gave 
Its natural sail expanded to the wave ; 
But while the billows slept upon the shore, 
And the tempestuous winds forgot to roar, 
Like some proud galley, floated on the tide, 
And busy feet the want of oars supplied. 
Shipwreck'd at last upon th' Iulian strand, 
It now, Arsinoe, asks thy favoring hand. 
No more its vows the plaintive Halcyon hail 
For the soft breathings of a western gale ; 
But that, mighty queen, thy genial power 
On young Selena every gift may shower, 
That love with beauteous innocence can share ; 
For these, and only these, accept the prayer. 

Merivale. 



THE BATH OF MINERVA. 

Maidens ! in times of old, Minerva loved 
A fair companion with exceeding love, 
The mother of Tiresias ; nor apart 
Lived they a moment. 

Yet for this nymph, this mother, was reserved 
A store of tears ; ay, for this favor'd nymph, 
The pleasing partner of Minerva's hours. 
For once, on Helicon, they loosed the clasps, 
That held their flowing robes, and bathed their limbs 
In Hippocrene, that, beauteous, glided by ; 
While noonday stillness wrapp'd the mountain round. 
Both laved together ; 'twas the time of noon ; 
And deep the stilly silence of the mount. 
When, with his dogs of chase, Tiresias trod 
That sacred haunt. The darkening down just bloom'd 
Upon his cheek. With thirst unutterable 
Panting, he sought that fountain's gushing stream, 
Unhappy ; and, involuntary, saw 
What mortal eyes, not blameless, may behold. 
Minerva, though incensed, thus pitying spoke : 
" Who to this luckless spot conducted thee, 
Oh son of Everus ? who sightless hence 



B. C.. 260.] CALLIMACHUS. 265 

Must needs depart!" she said, and darkness fell 

On the youth's eyes, astonished where he stood : 

A shooting anguish all his nerves benumb'd, 

And consternation chain'd his murmuring tongue. 

Then shriek'd the nymph : " What, Goddess, hast thou done 

To this my child ? are these the tender acts 

Of Goddesses ? thou hast bereaved of eyes 

My son. Oh miserable child ! thy gaze 

Has glanced upon the bosom and the shape 

Of Pallas ; but the sun thou must behold 

No more. Oh miserable me ! oh shades 

Of Helicon ! oh mountain, that my steps 

Shall ne'er again ascend ! for small offence 

Monstrous atonement ! thou art well repaid 

For some few straggling goats and hunted deer 

With my son's eyes !" the nymph then folded close, 

With both her arms, her son so dearly loved, 

And utter'd lamentation, with shrill voice 

And plaintive, like the mother nightingale. 

The Goddess felt compassion for the nymph, 

The partner of her soul, and softly said : 

" Retract, divinest woman ! what thy rage, 

Erring, has utter'd. 'Tis not I, that smite 

Thy son with blindness. Pallas hath no joy 

To rob from youths the lustre of their eyes. 

The laws of Saturn this decree. Whoe'er 

Looks on a being of immortal race. 

Unless the willing God consent, must look, 

Thus, at his peril, and atoning pay 

The dreadful penalty. This act of fate, 

Divinest woman ! may not be recall 'd. 

So spun the destinies his mortal thread, 

When thou didst bear him. 

But weep no more, companion ! for thy sake 

I yet have ample recompense in store 

For this thy son. Behold ! I bid him rise 

A prophet : far o'er every seer renown'd 

To future ages. He shall read the nights 

Of birds, and know whatever on the wing 

Hovers auspicious, or ill-omen'd flies, 

Or void of auspice. Many oracles 

To the Boeotians shall his tongue reveal ; 

To Cadmus, and the great Labdacian tribe. 

I will endow him with a mighty staff, 

To guide his steps aright ; and I will give 

A lengthen'd boundary to his mortal life ; 

And, when he dies, he only, midst the dead, 

Shall dwell inspired, and honor'd by that king 

Who rules the shadowy people of the grave." 

She spoke, and gave the nod ; what Pallas wills 
Is sure : in her, of all his daughters, Jove 
■ Bade all the glories of her father shine. 
" c 23 



266 bion. [b. c. 280. 

Maids of the bath ! no mother brought her forth ; 
Sprung from the head of Jove. Whate'er the head 
Of Jove, inclining, ratifies, the same 
Stands firm ; and thus his daughter's nod is fate. 



BION. 

FLOUKISHED ABOUT 280 B. C. 

This eharmiug poet was born at Phlossa, a .small town on the river 
Meles, near Smyrna. But very little is known of his life ; and even 
this must be inferred from the third Idyl of Moschus, who laments his 
untimely death. He appears to have left his native land early, and 
gone to Alexandria, then the literary metropolis of the world. Here, 
for a few years, he basked in the favor of Ptolemy Philometer ; but 
having in some way given offence to the kiug,he left Egypt, and went 
to Sicily, where he remained many years cultivating Bucolic poetry, 
for which that island was famous. Thence he visited Macedonia and 
Thrace ; and was finally put to death by poison administered, it is 
thought, by persons in the employ of Ptolemy. Moschus relates that 
they met the punishment due to their crime. 

Nothing more than mere fragments of the poetry of Bion has come 
down to us ; but in these we see a refinement of style, a loftiness of 
sentiment, and a fluency and elegance of versification, that make us 
regret that we hav& no more. ' The Greeks have hardly left us any- 
thing in poetry more beautiful than the 



LAMENT FOR ADONIS. 



I mourn for Adonis — Adonis is dead ! 

Fair Adonis is dead, and the Loves are lamenting. 
Sleep, Cypris, no more, on thy purple-strewed bed f 

Arise, wretch stoled in black — beat thy breast unrelenting, 
And shriek to the worlds, " Fair Adonis is dead." 

1 Editions: Fr. Jacobs, Gotha, 1795, Svo. Gilbert Wakefield, London, 
1795. J. F. Manso, Leipsic, 1807, 8vo. This contains an elaborate disserta- 
tion on the life and poetry of Bion, a commentary, and a German translation. 
English translations : prose by Rev. J. Banks in Bohns Classical Library ; 
metrical versions by Fawkes, Merivale, C. A. Elton, and Polwhele. 



B. C. 280.] BTON. 26? 



I mourn for Adonis — the Loves are lamenting. 

He lies on the hills, in his beauty and death — 
The white tusk of a boar has transpierced his white thigh ; 

And his Cypris grows mad at the thin gasping breath, 
While the black blood drips down on the pale ivory : 

And his eyeballs lie quenched with the weight of his brows. 
The rose fades from his lips, and, upon them just parted, 

The kiss dies which Cypris consents not to lose, 
Though the kiss of the Dead cannot make her glad-hearted — 

He knows not who kisses him dead in the dews. 



I mourn for Adonis — the Loves are lamenting. 

Deep, deep in the thigh, is Adonis's wound ; 
But a deeper, is Cypris's bosom presenting — 

The youth lieth dead, while his dogs howl around, 
And the nymphs weep aloud from the mists of the hill — 

And the poor Aphrodite, with tresses unbound, 
All dishevelled, unsandalled, shrieks mournful and shrill 

Through the dusk of the groves. The thorns, tearing her feet, 
Gather up the red flower of her blood, which is holy, 

Each footstep she takes ; and the valleys repeat 
The sharp cry which she utters, and draw it out slowly. 

She calls on her spouse, her Assyrian ; on him 
Her own youth ; while the dark blood spreads over his body — 

The chest taking hue, from the gash in the limb, 
And the bosom, once ivory, turning to ruddy. 



Ah, ah, Cytherea ! the Loves are lamenting : — • 

She lost her fair spouse, and so lost her fair smile — 
When he lived she was fair, by the whole world's consenting, 

Whose fairness is dead with him ! wo worth the while ! 
All the mountains above and the oaklands below 

Murmur, ah, ah, Adonis ! the streams overflow 
Aphrodite's deep wail — river fountains in pity 

Weep soft in the hills ; and the flowers, as they blow, 
Redden outward with sorrow ; while all hear her go 

With the song of her sadness, through mountain and city. 



Ah, ah, Cytherea ! Adonis is dead : 

Fair Adonis is dead — Echo answers, Adonis ! 
Who weeps not for Cypris, when, bowing her head, 

She stares at the wound where it gapes and astonies ? 
When, ah, ah ! she saw how the blood ran away 

And empurpled the thigh ; and, with wild hands flung out, 
Said with sobs, " Stay, Adonis, unhappy one, stay — 

Let me feel thee once more— let me ring thee about 



268 bion. [b. c. 280. 

With the clasp of my arms, and press kiss into kiss ! 

Wait a little, Adonis, and kiss me again, 
For the last time, beloved ; and hut so much of this, 

That the kiss may learn life from the warmth of the strain ! 
Till thy breath shall exude from thy soul to my mouth ; 

To my heart ; and, the love-charm I once more receiving, 
May drink thy love in it, and keep, of a truth, 

That one kiss in the place of Adonis the living. 
Thou fliest me, mournful one, fliest me far, 

My Adonis ; and seekest the Acheron portal — 
To Hell's cruel King, goest down with a scar, 

While I weep, and live on like a wretched immortal, 
And follow no step ; — Persephone, take him, 

My husband ! — thou'rt better and brighter than I ; 
So all beauty flows down to thee ! / cannot make him 

"Look up at my grief; there's despair in my cry, 
Since I wail for Adonis, who died to me . . died to me . . 

Then, I fear thee I — Art thou dead, my Adored ? 
Passion ends like a dream in the sleep that's denied to me. — 

Cypris is widowed ; the Loves seek their lord 
All the house through in vain ! Charm of cestus has ceased 

With thy clasp ! — too bold in the hunt, past preventing ; 
Ay, mad : thou so fair ... to have strife with a beast !" — 

Thus did Cypris wail on — and the Loves are lamenting. 



Ah, ah, Cytherea ! Adonis is dead — 

She wept tear after tear, with the blood which was sherl ; 
And both turned into flowers for the earth's garden-close ; 

Her tears, to the wind-flower — his blood, to the rose. 



I mourn for Adonis — Adonis is dead. 

Weep no more in the woods, Cytherea, thy lover ! 
So, well ; make a place for his corse in thy bed, 

With the purples thou sleepest in, under and over. 
He's fair, though a corse — a fair corse . . like a sleeper — 

Lay soft in the silks he had pleasure to fold, 
When, beside thee at night, holy dreams deep and deeper 

Enclosed his young life on the couch made of gold ! 
Love him still, poor Adonis ! cast on him together 

The crowns and the flowers ! since he died from the place, 
Why let all die with him — let the blossoms go wither ; 

Rain myrtles and olive-buds down on his face : 
Rain the myrrh down, let all that is best fall apining, 

For thy myrrh, his life, from thy keeping is swept ! — 
Pale he lay, thine Adonis, in purples reclining — 

The Loves raised their voices around him and wept. 
They have shorn their bright curls off to cast on Adonis : 
One treads on his bow — on his arrows, another — 
One breaks up a well-feathered quiver ; and one is, 



b. c. 280.] bion. 269 

Bent low on a sandal, untying the strings : 
And one carries the vases of gold from the springs, 
While one washes the wound ; and behind them a brother 
Fans down on the body sweet airs with his wings. 



Cytherea herself, now, the Loves are lamenting. 

Each torch at the door, Hymenseus blew out ; 
And the marriage-wreath dropping its leaves as repenting, 

No more " Hymen, Hymen," is chanted about, 
But the ai ai instead — " ai alas" is begun 

For Adonis, and then follows " ai Hymenseus 1" 
The Graces are weeping for Cinyras's son, 

Sobbing low, each to each, " His fair eyes cannot see us !" 
Their wail strikes more shrill than the sadder Dione's ; 
The Fates mourn aloud for Adonis, Adonis, 
Deep chanting ! he hears not a word that they say : 

He would hear, but Persephone has him in keeping. 

Cease moan, Cytherea — leave pomps for to-day, 

And weep new when a new year refits thee for weeping. 

Elizabeth Barrett Browning. 



HYMN TO THE EVENING STAR. 

Mild star of eve, whose tranquil beams 
Are grateful to the queen of love, 

Fair planet, whose effulgence gleams 
More bright than all the host above, 

And only to the moon's clear light 

Yields the first honors of the night ! 

All hail, thou soft, thou holy star, 
Thou glory of the midnight sky ! 

And when my steps are wandering far, 
Leading the shepherd-minstrelsy, 

Then, if the moon deny her ray, 

O guide me, Hesper, on my way ! 

No savage robber of the dark, 
No foul assassin claims thy aid 

To guide his dagger to its mark, 

Or light him on his plund'ring trade ; 

My gentle errand is to prove 

The transports of requited love. 



Merivale. 



THE TEACHER TAUGHT. 

As late I slumbering lay, before my sight 
Bright Venus rose in visions of the night : 
23* 



270 bion. [b. c. 280. 

She led young Cupid ; as in thought profound 
His modest eyes were fix'd upon the ground ; 
And thus she spoke : " To thee, dear swain, I bring 
My little son ; instruct the boy to sing." 

No more she said ; but vanish'd into air, 
And left the wily pupil to my care : 
I — sure I was an idiot for my pains — 
Began to teach him old bucolic strains ; 
How Pan the pipe, how Pallas form'd the flute, 
Phoebus the lyre, and Mercury the lute : 
Love, to my lessons quite regardless grown, 
Sang lighter lays, and sonnets of his own ; 
Th' amours of men below, and gods above, 
And all the triumphs of the Queen of Love. 
I — sure the simplest of all shepherd-swains — 
Full soon forgot my old bucolic strains ; 
The lighter lays of love my fancy caught, 
And I remember'd all that Cupid taught. 

Fail-In 



CUPID AND THE FOWLER. 

A youth, bird-hunting, chanced one day, 

Wandering on his woody way, 

Love, the runaway, to see 

Perch'd amid a boxen tree, 

High on a bough ; of radiant dyes 1 

A bird it seem'd — the fowler's eyes I 

Glisten'd at the precious prize. J 

Together soon his twigs he bound, 

Watching Cupid hover round 

From bough to bough ; now here, now there — 

On every spot except the snare. 

And running to an aged swain 

(His early teacher), told his pain, 

Lu accents well the case befitting, 

And show'd where little Love was sitting. 

The old man shook his head and smiled ; 

"Give o'er this idle chase, my child, 

No pretty bird hath thee beguiled. 

A cruel beast ! but happy thou, 

Till manhood bloom upon thy brow. 

He that flies will then pursue, 

The bird you hunt will then hunt you ; 

Perch on your head, and round your heart 

Forever flutter, never part." 

Freezer's Mingi 



B. C. 190.] APOLLON1US RIIODIUS. 271 



APOLLONIUS RHODIUS. 

FLOURISHED ABOUT 190 B. C. 

Apollonius Rhodius was bom, according to the best authorities, at 
Alexandria. He was a pupil of Callimachus, and early went to Rhodes 
(whence his surname), where he opened a school for instructing in 
rhetoric. Subsequently he succeeded Eratosthenes as librarian at 
Alexandria, and while in this office he composed the epic poem on 
which his fame rests, The Expedition of the Argonauts, in four books. 
He wrote somewhat in imitation of Homer, though without Homer's 
genius. His poem, however, giving in a well sustained tone a full 
description of the adventure, evinces great application, and has some 
passages of great beauty, particularly the episode on the passion of 
Medea, whose character is beautifully drawn, and the gradual growth 
of whose love is described with no little power. 1 



INTERVIEW BETWEEN JASON AND MEDEA. 

No other theme employ'd Medea's mind, 

Though singing ; nor could all her sportive maids, 

Whatever carol they alternate sang, 

Long please her : she, still absent, in the song 

Broke off abrupt. Nor on the damsels round 

Look'd she with steadfast eyes ; but turn'd them still 

To the far paths, and ever lean'd her cheek, 

Inclining forward ; and a shock was felt 

Quick at her heart, if e'er she listening caught 

A footfall's echo, or the passing wind. 

But soon he came ; and, to the longing maid 
Appear'd, high-bounding : as the Syrian star, 
Emerged from ocean, rises, beautiful 
And glorious to behold ; yet to the flocks 
Sends forth wide-wasting plagues. Thus Jason came : 
Thus beautiful in aspect ; but his sight 
Raised agonized emotion, and her heart 
Sank ; her eyes darken 'd ; and the reddening blood 
Rush'd to her cheek ; nor could her faltering knees 
Advance, nor yet recede ; and, under her, 
Her feet seem'd rooted to the earth. Anon 
The damsels left them, and retired apart. 

1 Editions : G. Schaefer, Leipsic, 1810, two volumes 8vo. ; Wellauer, 
Leipsic, 1828, two volumes 8vo. ; J. Shaw, Greek and Latin, Oxford. 1777, 
one volume quarto. Translation: Francis Fawkes, London, 1780. 



272 APOLLONIUS RHODIUS. [B. C. 190. 

Thus, opposite each other, mute they stood : 
As oaks, or fir-trees tall, nigh-growing, lift, 
Upon the mountains, their firm-rooted stems 
In quietness, when not a breath, of air 
Is stirring in the leaves ; anon, with gusts 
Of rushing wind are shaken to and fro 
With deep tumultuous murmur ; so the hreath 
Of love would stir within them, and their tongues 
Flow with no stinted utterance. Jason felt 
The virgin tremble with her heaven-sent grief, 
And, soft in blandishment, address'd her thus : 
" Why dost thou fear me, maiden, thus alone ? 
For I am not like men, who boast themselves 
Vain-gloriously, nor was I ever such, 
When dwelling in the land that gave me birth. 
Then fear me not too greatly, gentle maid ! 
But now interrogate, or speak thyself 
Whate'er thou list ; and, since we meet with minds 
Of friendly greeting, in this hallow'd place, 
Where guile were sacrilege, now openly 
Speak thou, or question me. Nor with smooth words 
Beguile me ; since thy promise, from the first, 
Is through thy sister pledged, that thou wilt give 
The welcome drugs. By Hecate herself ! 
By thy own parents ! by all-seeing Jove ! 
Who o'er the stranger and the suppliant still 
Spreads his protecting hand, I thee conjure ! 
For I a stranger and a suppliant come 
Into thy presence : in severest strait 
I bend, and clasp thy knees ; for, without thee, 
I cannot hope to quell with mastering strength 
This bitter conflict. For thy aid my thanks 
Hereafter shall be thine : such thanks as men, 
Who dwell remote, can give. I will exalt 
Thy name and graceful honor ; and the rest 
Of heroes with me shall extol thy praise, 
When they to Greece return : the mothers too 
And wives of heroes, who now musing sit 
Upon the ocean shore, and wail our loss." 

So said the youth, with admiration high 
Gilding his speech ; but she, her eyes cast down, 
Smiled with enchanting sweetness : all her soul 
Melted within her, of his words of praise 
Enamor'd. Then she fix'd full opposite 
Her eyes upon him, at a loss what word 
She first should speak, yet wishing in a breath 
To utter all her fond impetuous thoughts. 
And, with spontaneous act, she took the drug 
From forth her fragrant girdle's folds, and he 
Received it at her hands, elate with joy: 
And she had drawn the spirit from her breast, 
Had he but ask'd it ; sighing out her soul 



B. C. 190.] APOLLONIUS RHODIUS. 273 

Into his bosom. So from Jason's head, 
Waving with yellow locks, Love lighten'd forth 
A lambent flame, and snatch'd the darted rays 
That trembled from his eyes. Her inmost soul 
Floating in bliss, she all dissolved away ; 
As dew on roses in the morning's beams 
Evaporating melts. So stood they both ; 
And bent, in bashfulness, their eyes on earth, 
Then glanced them on each other ; while their brows 
Smiled joyous, in serenity of love. 

At length the virgin, half-inaudible, 
Address 'd him thus : " Learn now my purpos'd means 
To aid thee." 

She then gives him minute directions how to use the drug she gives 
him, and how to sacrifice to the gods to gain the victory. 

She said ; and silently 
Low tow'rds her feet bent sad her sorrowing eyes, 
And bathed her cheek with scalding tears, and mourn'd, 
That he should wander on the seas, far off, 
Away from her. Then, careless of reserve, 
Again, with plaintive speech, addressing him, 
She caught him with her hand ; for now her eyes 
Had lost their bashful shame : " Remember yet, 
If to thy home thou ever shouldst return, 
Medea's name. When thou art far away, 
I shall remember thee. But, freely tell, 
Where are the mansions, whither soon the ship 
Will bear thee o'er the waves. Returnest thou 
Nigh rich Orchomenos ? perchance, not far 
From our near isle, iBea ? tell me, too, 
Of that same virgin, whom thou namedst late 
Pasiphae's famous daughter, who is kin 
To my own father." So she said ; and love 
Stole soft upon his soul ; most deeply touch'd 
. To see the damsel weep : with artful hint 
He spoke : "And, surely I nor night nor day 
Can thee forget, so I escape my fate, 
And with safe flight return to Greece '; nor yet 
iEetes task me with some heavier toil. 
But, if my native land would please thine ear, 
It shall be told thee ; for I yearn myself 
To tell it thee." * * 

So said he, soothing her with honeyed phrase ; 
But painful griefs within her heaving breast 
Struggled, as sorrowful she answer'd him, 
In hurried speech : "With Greeks perchance to keep 
Their faith inviolate, is seemly thought : 
But, midst the race of men, iEetes least 
Resembles him thou call'st Pasiphae's spouse, 
The righteous Minos ; nor can I compare 



274 APOLLONIUS RHODIUS. [b. C. 190. 

With Ariadne. Speak not of these rites 

Of hospitality ; but only this : 

That, when thou to Iolchos shalt return, 

Thou wilt remember me ; and I, despite 

My parents' anger, will remember thee. 

But, should some rumor, wafted from afar, ' 

Or carrier bird, the rapid tidings bear 

That I am clean forgotten, may the storms 

Snatch me to thy Iolchos o'er the seas ; 

That I may chide thee to thy face, and say, 

'By my safe counsels didst thou speed thy flight.' 

For I should wish then suddenly to stand 

Before thee in thy mansion." So she said ; 

And piteously let fall the trickling tears 

Upon her cheeks. He, interrupting then, 

Exclaim'd : " Divinest maiden ! hence at once 

With these thy storms, and this thy carrier bird ! 

For these are empty words. But shouldst thou come 

To those my habitations, and to Greece, 

Thou shouldst by Grecian women and by men, 

Be honor'd and revered ; nay, e'en adored, 

Like to a Goddess : since through thee their sons, 

Their brothers, friends, the husbands of their love, 

Saved from destruction, to their homes return, 

Fresh in the bloom of life : and thou shouldst grace 

My bed in marriage ; nor should aught divide 

Our loves, till death should shroud us in the grave." 

He spoke, and, while she listen'd, all her heart 
Melted away within her : though, from deeds 
Thus dark, she shuddering turn'd her eyes, and mused 
Wretched in mind ; yet did not long persist 
In coy denial to inhabit Greece. 
For Juno had devised, that thus should come 
The Colchian maid to blest Iolchos' towers, 
And leave her land, to work fell Pelias wo. 
But now the handmaids, that in silence watch'd 
Far off, grew anxious, and the waning day 
Urged that the absent maiden should return 
Home to her mother. But not once the maid 
Bethought her of return : for she was charm'd 
With his fair person, and his soothing words. 
Till Jason wary warn'd her, and exclaimed : 
" Time presses to return, lest the sun's light 
Should first go down, and strangers' eyes remark 
Our secret steps. But we will meet again 
On this same spot." So they, with pleasing words, 
Essay'd each other's thoughts ; then parting went 
Their separate way. Exulting, to the ship 
And his companions Jason hastening pass'd : 
She to her handmaids. They, together all, 
Ran nimbly forward, and the virgin met : 
But she discern'd them not in gathering throng 



B. C. 190.] MOSCHUS. 2*75 

Moving around her ; for her high-wrought mind 

Was in the clouds. With swift instinctive feet 

She climb'd her rapid chariot ; in one hand 

She snatch 'd the reins ; the other grasp'd the scourge, 

Of variegated thong, and lash'd the mules : 

So rush'd they to the city, hastening home. 

Chalciope, with fond inquietude, 

Ask'd of her sons. But she, distracted, lost 

All power of mind, and caught no utter 'd word ; 

Nor, when her sister question'd, would reply. 

On a low footstool, placed beneath her couch, 

She sate her down ; and, sidelong, lean'd her cheek 

On her left hand. But in her eyelids stood 

The swimming tears ; with agitating thought 

Of that dark deed of covenanted guilt. 

Elton. 



MOSCHUS. 

FLOURISHED ABOUT 190 B. G. 

Moschus, the bucolic poet, who flourished contemporaneously with 
Bion, was born at Syracuse, but probably resided at Alexandria. He 
styles himself the pupil of Bion, by which he probably means nothing 
further than that he imitated his style. Of his individual history we 
know even less than that of his master. Of his compositions we have 
only four Idyllia, and a few fragments. 1 In these he seems to have 
taken Bion for his model, and resembles him in his turn for apologue, 
his delicate amenity of style, his luxuriance of poetical imagery, and 
his graceful and almost feminine softness. 



THE CONTRAST. 

O'er the smooth main, when scarce a zephyr blows 
To break the dark-blue ocean's deep repose, 
I seek the calmness of the breathing shore, 
Delighted with the fields and woods no more. 
But when, white-foaming, heave the deeps on high, 
Swells the black storm, and mingles sea with sky, 
Trembling, I fly the wild, tempestuous strand,* 
And seek the close recesses of the land. 

1 Editions : The Poems of Moschus are generally edited with those of 
Bion, the translators of the one being the translators of the other. 



2*76 moschus. [b. c. 190. 

Sweet are the sounds that murmur through the wood, 

While roaring storms upheave the dang'rous flood ; 

Then, if the winds more fiercely howl, they rouse 

But sweeter music in the pine's tall houghs. 

Hard is the life the weary fisher finds 

Who trusts his floating mansion to the winds, 

Whose daily food the fickle sea maintains, 

Unchanging labor, and uncertain gains. 

Be mine soft sleep, beneath the spreading shade 

Of some broad leafy plane, inglorious laid, 

Lull'd by a fountain's fall, that, murmuring near, 

Soothes, not alarms, the toil-worn laborer's ear. 

Bland. 

LOVE A FUGITIVE. 

Aloud cried Love's all-powerful Queen — 
If any man has lately seen 
My scape-grace, tell me where he is ; 
The sweet reward shall be a kiss : 
If further blisses you would rifle, 
I shall not stand upon a trifle. 
The boy's so notable, no doubt, 
Among a score you'd find him out. 
His skin glows like the fiery gleam ; 
His eyes flash like the lightning's beam ; 
His honeyed tongue distils with lies ; 
His heart is wrapt in dark disguise ; 
When passion rankles in his mind, 
To savage deeds the elf's inclined ; 
And, under guise of harmless jest, 
He stings the unsuspecting breast. 
Innumerous curling tresses grace 
His impudent and rakish face. 
His hands are tiny, but their power 
Extends to Pluto's gloomy bower. 
The peevish urchin carries wings, 
With which from heart to heart he sprii 
As little birds, in wanton play, 
Fly carelessly from spray to spray. 
A trinket-bow and shafts he wears, 
Which carry to the furthest stars. 
His golden quiver swings behind, 
With numerous fatal weapons lin'd, 
Wherewith he deals sharp sorrows round, 
And dares his mother's heart to wound. 
His torch, with its portentous blaze, 
Consumes the very solar rays. 
If thou shalt catch the vagrant child, 
Ah, be not by his tears beguil'd ; 
Bind fast his trickful hands, nor heed 
Those smiles that secret treachery breed ; 



B. C. 



190.] 



MOSCHUS. 



211 



Drag him along, nor thoughtless stay- 
To fondle with him on the way. 
Fly — fly his kisses : they inflame 
"With every poison thou canst name ; 
And if he cry, "My arms I yield," 
Try not those deadly arms to wield : 
Let prudence check this mad desire— 
They're pregnant with celestial fire. 



W. Shcyherd. 



ALPHEUS AND ARETHUSA. 

From where his silver waters glide, 
Majestic, to the ocean-tide 

Through fair Olympia's plain, 
Still his dark course Alpheus keeps 
Beneath the mantle of the deeps, 

Nor mixes with the main. 

To grace his distant bride, he pours 
The sand of Pisa's sacred shores, 

And flowers that deck'd her grove ; 
And, rising from the unconscious brine, 
On Arethusa's breast divine 

Receives the meed of love. 

'Tis thus with soft, bewitching skill 
The childish god deludes our will, 

And triumphs o'er our pride ; 
The mighty river owns his force, 
Bends to the sway his winding course, 

And dives beneath the tide. 



MONODY ON THE DEATH OF BION. 1 

Weep every crystal fount and Dorian spring, 
Each sacred river weep, your Bion is no more — 
Through every tangled dell and pathless grove 

Let sounds of Pity swell, 
And tear-drops stand on every opening flower : 
Let Nature mourn, as round his grave she strows 
The pallid, drooping, solitary rose, 
Or weaves the violet o'er the hallow'd dead ! 
Still at his tomb let hyacinthus grow, 

Inwrought with deeper wo ; 
The muses' pride, the joy of life, is fled! 



Bland. 



1 This is a most beautiful imitation of the 
Esq., London, 1802. 

24 



iginal, by J. B. S. Morritt, 



218 moschus. [b. c. 190 

Begin, Sicilian muse ! tlie grief prolong, 
And steep in tears the melancholy song. 

Sad Philomel, that in the cypress shade 

Mournest the minstrel youth in vain, 
Tell to the listening nymphs that round thee lave 

In Arethusa's welling wave, 
The life, the glory of the plain, is dead ; 

That Doria's reed is heard no more, 
And all the rapture of the lyre is o'er. 
Begin, Sicilian muse ! the grief prolong, 
And steep in tears the melancholy song. 

Ye tenants of old Strymon's sedgy plain, 
Melodious swans, ye catch the tuneful wo, 

(Your white breasts trembling on the stream) 
And pour for Bion lost the mournful strain ; 

So sweet his warbled notes would flow. 
Ocagria's nymphs in silence weep around, 
And all Bistonia's groves repeat the sacred sound. 
Again, Sicilian muse ! the grief prolong, 
And steep in tears the melancholy song. 

No more at early dawn the peopled plain 
Wakes to the warblings of the Dorian flute, 
No more beneath the branching oak he sits, 
And hears the woodlands wild resound the strain. 

Ah me ! they mourn in vain ; 
The cot, the woodland, and the vale, is mute. 

Sunk in the deep and silent shade 
Of death's cold realm, his hands the lyre explore 

To soothe the spectre king ; no more 
Yon mountain hoar his carol'd notes shall sound, 
But solitude and sorrow reign around. 
Again, Sicilian muse ! the grief prolong, 
And steep in tears the melancholy song. 

Thee, Bion ! thee the patron of the lyre, 
Apollo mourn'd, and thee the sylvan train 
Through all their green retreats lamented loud : 
In sullen murmurs from the crystal well 

The tear-fraught torrents swell, 
And mimic sighs along their reeds expire. 
Thee lovelorn Echo wails, of voice bereft, 
Echo, the loveliest of the Oread train, 

As on the yawning cleft 
Of some deserted rock she strays, 
No more responsive to thy raptur'd lays. 
Astonish'd Nature sees th' untimely storm, 
And blighting East her opening buds deform, 
And withering flowers defraud the ruin'd plain. 
Again, Sicilian muse ! the grief prolong, 
And steep in tears the melancholy song. 



b. c. 190.] mosciius. 279 

Oh, best belov'd ! oh, long lamented ! tell 

Who to the Dorian pipe succeeds ? 
Where still thy lingering accents seem to swell, 
Where still thy breath hangs in the charmed reeds. 

Ah no ! in sleep and silence bound, 
Dear to the sylvan god those reeds remain ! 

No sacrilegious lip be found 
To bid them breathe again — 
The God himself shall still the gift revere, 
For once the God himself was rival'd there. 
Again, Sicilian muse ! the grief prolong, 
And steep in tears the melancholy song. 

Thee Galatea mourn 'd, her poet lost — 
Oft on the wave-worn margent of the main 
With thee the nymph would sit the livelong day, 
In rapt attention to thy measur'd lay ; 
Not such the lays her giant lover sang, 
Not such the voice she fled : at thy soft strain 
From ocean's lap the green-hair'd nereid sprung ; 
And now, forgetful, on the sounding shore, 
Where whitening billows round her roar, 
Musing she tracks the solitary coast, 
And weeps, ah ! vainly weeps, her poet lost. 
Again, Sicilian muse ! the grief prolong, 
And steep in tears the melancholy song. 

With thee the transport of the lyre, 
With thee the muse's dearest gifts are gone, 

The graces and the loves are flown, 
And at thy tomb mourn their extinguish'd fire. 

Not more for young Adonis slain 

Did Venus, bending o'er the bier, 
Silent pour the pearly tear. 
Oh Meles, sacred stream ! a fresher wo 

Bids, fraught with tears, thy torrent flow, 
And shock with tenfold roar the murmuring main ; 
As once it did, when he, the heir of fame, 
The glory of the lyre, the Grecian pride, 
Homer, thy godlike offspring, was no more. 

Know, sacred stream, 
A second Homer in thy Bion died — 

Father of verse, what strains were thine ? 

The blooming Spartan's fatal charms, 

Of Peleus' son the wrath divine, 
And war's vindictive scourge, and all the pride of arms. 

Not such the lays that Bion sung ; 

List'ning to his Dorian measures, 

Lightly danc'd the frolic pleasures, 

And shepherd girls around him hung : 

He taught their rosy cheeks to glow, 

The honey of their lips to flow ; 



280 polybius. [b. c. 204-122. 

For sweetly lull'd upon his breast 

Love reclin'd, a harmless guest, 

And Venus near her raptur'd child, 

Pleas'd at the strain, exulting smil'd. 
Again, Sicilian muse ! the grief prolong, 
And steep in tears the melancholy song. 

The garden's pride, the firstlings of the year, 
Pale primroses and violets strew the ground, 
And withering droop in Si) ring's meridian reign ; 
Anon their sweets repair, 
Diffusing odors round, 
And wake to rapture the reviving plain ; 
But we, when fate's remorseless pow'r 
Hastens th' inevitable hour, 
And points the downward path to Pluto's shade, 

Heroes and gods resist in vain : 
"Each in his narrow cell forever laid" 
No more we rise again : 
Forever and forever o'er, 
The dream of life can cheat no more. 
Light lies the green-sward on thy breast ; 
Chain'd is the tuneful tongue 
Where music's sweetest air and pleasures hung, 
And fraught with love's ethereal heat, 
Thy trembling heart has ceas'd to beat, 
By death's cold hand opprest. 
Long groans and melancholy sounds succeed, 
And drown the sorrows of the Dorian reed. 



POLYBIUS. 

204—122 b. c. 



Polybius, the historian, was born in Arcadia about the year 204 B. C. 
He possessed very great advantages, for his father was not only a man 
of rank and family, but a general and a statesman. From his youth 
he was instructed in the science of politics and the military art, and 
his education was as finished a one as an anxious and accomplished 
parent could make it. He attended his father when he went as an 
ambassador to Egypt ; and his diligence in acquainting himself with 
everything respecting that country was a prelude to the consummate 
knowledge which he afterwards attained of all parts of the then 
known world. His patriotism displayed itself in resisting the Romans 
in their efforts to conquer Greece. After the fall of Perseus, and the 
conquest of Macedonia, he, with about a thousand other prominent 



b. c. 204-122.] polybius. 281 

men, was "banished to Italy. Having become acquainted in Macedonia 
with Fabius and Scipio, the two sons of JEmilius Paulus, he obtained 
permission, at their earnest request, to reside at Rome, at the house 
of their father. Here he spent most of his time in accumulating 
materials for his great historical work. In the year 151 B. C, he, 
with the other exiles, now reduced to three hundred, was restored 
to his country, and went to Peloponnesus. Here he exerted all his 
influence to induce his countrymen to make peace with the Romans, 
but to no effect. After the conquest of the country by the Romans, 
the Achseans saw and recognized the wisdom of his advice, and 
erected a statue to his honor, on the pedestal of which was inscribed, 
" Hellas would have been saved had the advice of Polybius been 
taken." He joined Scipio in his expedition against Carthage, and 
was present with him at the capture of that renowned commercial 
metropolis, B. C. 146. Soon after this he returned to his native land, 
and exerted all his influence, which was great, to alleviate the mise- 
ries of his countrymen, after the taking of Corinth, in which he was 
very successful, visiting various cities, and obtained for many of them 
favorable terms with the Romans. From this time forth he devoted 
himself to the composition of his great historical work, till his death, 
which took place about 122 B. C. 

Polybius wrote a Universal History in forty books, from the com- 
mencement of the second Punic war, 218 B. C, to the destruction of 
Carthage and Corinth by the Romans, 146 B. C. But the greater part 
of this most valuable and laborious work has perished. We have 
only the first five books entire, and fragments and extracts of the rest. 
As it is, however, it is one of the most valuable historical works that 
has come down to us. His style, indeed, will not bear a comparison 
with the great masters of Greek literature : he is not eloquent like 
Thucydides, nor poetical like Herodotus, nor perspicuous and elegant 
like Xenophon. He lived at a time when the Greek language had lost 
much of its purity by an intermixture of foreign elements, and he did 
not attempt to imitate the language of the great Attic writers. He 
wrote as he spoke : he gives us the first rough draught of his thoughts, 
and seldom imposes on himself the trouble to arrange or methodize 
them : hence they are often vague and desultory, and not unfrequently 
deviate entirely from the subject. 

But in the highest quality of an historian — the love of truth — he 
has no superior. This always predominates in his writings. He has 
judgment to trace effects to their causes ; a full knowledge of his sub- 
jects ; and an impartiality which forbids him to conceal it to favor 
any party or cause. In his geographical descriptions he is not always 

24* 



282 polybius. [b. c. 204-122. 

clear, but his descriptions of battles have never been surpassed. " His 
writings have been admired by the warrior, copied by the politician, 
and imitated by the historian. Brutus had him ever in his hands ; 
Tully transcribed him ; and many of the finest passages of Livy are 
the property of the Greek historian." 1 



THE TEACHINGS OF HISTORY. 

How wide a field of reflection is opened to us by this event : 3 
and what admirable lessons does it contain for the good con- 
duct of human life. In the fate of Regulus we may discern 
how little confidence should be reposed in fortune, especially 
when she flatters with the fairest hopes. For he, who a few 
days before beheld, without remorse or pity, the miserable 
state to which the Carthaginians were reduced, was now him- 
self led captive by them ; and forced to implore his safety of 
those very enemies to whom he had shown no mercy. We may 
also remark in this event the truth of that saying of Euripides : 
"that one wise counsel is better than the strength of many." 
For here, the wisdom of one man defeated legions that were 
thought invincible ; infused new life into a people whose losses 
had even almost rendered them insensible of misery ; and saved 
their tottering state from ruin. Let the reader then take care 
to reap some profit from these examples, and apply them to 
the improvement of his life and manners. For since there are 
two sources only from whence any real benefit can be derived — 
oar own misfortunes, and those that have happened to other 
men ; and since the first of these, though generally, perhaps, 
the most effectual, is far more dangerous and painful than the 
other ; it will always be the part of prudence to prefer the 
latter, which will alone enable us at all times to discern what- 
ever is fit and useful, without any hazard or disquiet. And 
hence appears the genuine excellence of history, which, with- 
out exposing us to the labor or the cost of suffering, instructs 
us how to form our actions upon the truest models, and to 
direct our judgment right in all the different circumstances of 
life. 

1 Editions: J. A. Ernesti, Leipsic, 1764, three volumes 8vo. Schweig- 
haeuser, Leipsic, 1795, eight volumes 8vo. : this has a Latin version, and 
an admirable Lexicon Polybiannm, -which is almost indispensable to the 
student. Translated into English by Hampton, in four volumes octavo. 

- The battle which occurred between the Romans and Carthaginians, in 
Africa, B. C. 255. The Romans under Regulus were defeated by the Cartha- 
ginians under Xantippus, a Spartan general, and Regulus was taken prisoner. 



b. c. 204-122.] roLYBius. 288 



BATTLE BETWEEN ELEPHANTS. 

When the spring approached, Antiochus and Ptolemy, having 
completed all their preparations, were now ready by a battle to 
decide the war. Ptolemy, therefore, began his march from 
Alexandria, with seventy thousand foot, five thousand horse, 
and seventy-three elephants. Antiochus, being informed of 
his approach, drew together also all his forces ; his army was 
composed of five thousand light-armed troops, and twenty 
thousand men, selected from all parts of the kingdom, armed 
after the Macedonian manner, and led by Theodotus the JEto- 
lian, who had deserted from the service of King Ptolemy. 

Ptolemy, advancing to Pelusium, and having waited there to 
receive the troops that were not yet come up, and to distribute 
the provisions among his army, again decamped, and passing 
through a dry and desert country, along Mount Casius, and 
the place that was called the Pits, arrived at Gaza. And 
having allowed some time for the refreshment of his army, he 
continued his route forwards by slow and gentle marches, and 
on the fifth day fixed his camp at the distance of fifty stadia 
from the city of Raphia, which is situated beyond Rhino- 
corura, and stands the nearest towards JEgypt, of all the cities 
of Ccele-syria. 

At the same time Antiochus also began his march, and 
passing beyond Raphia, came and encamped, in the night, at 
the distance of ten stadia from the enemy. But within some 
days afterwards, being desirous to possess himself of some 
more advantageous posts, and at the same time to inspire his 
troops with confidence, he advanced so near to Ptolemy, that 
the armies were now separated from each other by the distance 
only of five stadia. Frequent engagements, therefore, hap- 
pened every day between the troops, that went abroad to get 
water or provisions ; and many skirmishes, both of the infantry 
and cavalry, in the space that was between the camps. 

The two kings, when they had thus for five days remained 
in sight, resolved at last to engage in a decisive action. As 
soon, therefore, as Ptolemy began first to put his troops in mo- 
tion, Antiochus also drew out all his forces, and ranged them in 
order of battle. When the armies were thus ranged in order, and 
ready to engage, the two kings, attended by their officers and 
friends, advanced along the front of all the line, and endeavored 
to inspire their troops with courage, especially the phalanxes, 



284 polybius. [b. c. 204-122. 

in which they had placed their greatest hopes. In this manner, 
riding along from rank to rank, they addressed all the troops 
in turn, sometimes by themselves, and sometimes by interpre- 
ters. But when Ptolemy with his sister, came to the left wing 
of his army, and Antiochus, attended by his guards, had taken 
his station also upon his right, the signal was sounded to en- 
gage, and the elephants approaching first, began the combat. 
Among those that belonged to Ptolemy, there were some that 
advanced boldly against their adversaries. It was then pleas- 
ing to behold the soldiers engaged in close combat from the 
towers, and pushing against each other with their spears. But 
the beasts themselves afforded a far nobler spectacle as they 
rushed together, front to front, with the greatest force and 
fury. For this is the manner in which they fight. Twisting 
their trunks together, they strive each of them with his utmost 
force, to maintain their own ground, and to move their adver- 
sary from his place. And when the strongest of them has at 
last pushed aside the trunk of the other, and forced him to turn 
his flank, he then pierces him with his tusks, in the same man- 
ner as bulls in fighting wound each other with their horns. 
But the greater part of the beasts that belonged to Ptolemy 
declined the combat. For this usually happens to the elephants 
of Africa, which are not able to support either the smell or cry 
of the Indian elephants. Or rather they are struck with terror 
at the view of their enormous size and strength ; since even 
before they approach near together, they frequently turn their 
backs and fly. And this it was, which at this time happened. 
As soon, therefore, as these animals, being thus disordered by 
their fears, had fallen against the ranks of their own army, and 
forced the Royal Guards to break the line, Antiochus seizing 
the occasion, and advancing round on the outside of the ele- 
phants, charged the cavalry, which was commanded by Poly- 
crates, in the extremity of the left wing of Ptolemy. At the 
same time also the Grecian mercenaries, who stood within the 
elephants, near the phalanx, advanced with fury against the 
Peltastse, and routed them with little difficulty, because their 
ranks likewise were already broken by the elephants. Thus the 
whole left wing of the army of Ptolemy was defeated, and 
forced to fly. 






b. c. 60.] 



MELEAGER. 



285 



MELEAGER. 

FLOURISHED ABOUT 60 B. C. 

Meleager, the celebrated writer and collector of epigrams, 1 was a 
native of Gadara, in Palestine, and lived about 60 B. C. He resided 
at Tyre ; but, in his old age, was driven by the wars to seek a retire- 
ment in the island of Cos, where he diedr 

Meleager is remarkable as the father of those collections of fugitive 
pieces from various poets, known by the name of "Anthologies." 
They are singularly delicate and fanciful in the turn of thought and 
expression, and are usually marked with the most elegant simplicity. 

THE GIFTS OF THE GRACES. 

The Graces, smiling, saw her opening charms, 
And clasped Arista in their lovely arms. 
Hence her resistless beauty ; matchless sense ; 
The music of her voice ; the eloquence, 
That, e'en in silence flashes from her face ; 
All s trikes the ravished heart — for all is grace : 
List to my vows, sweet maid ! or from my view 
Far, far away, remove ! In vain I sue ; 
For, as no space can check the bolts of Jove, 
No distance shields me from the shafts of Love. 



Keen. 



THE GARLAND. 



A fresh garland will I braid 

Of lilies blithe and fair, 
Of the hyacinth's blue shade, 

And the crocus's gold hair, 
Of narcissus dewy bright, 

Of myrtle, never sere, 
With the violet virgin white, 

And sweet rose to lovers dear. 
Thus, for Heliodora's hair, 

Freshest, fairest flowers I've twin'd, 
But none are half so sweet, so fair, 

As the dear, dear locks they'll bind. 



Peter. 



1 The ancient Epigram was not exclusively appropriated to subjects of 
humor or terminated with a witty point, hut was either " An Inscription," 
as its name implies, or a short piece, serious or tender, answering generally 
to the modern " Sonnet." 



2SG MELEAGER. [b. C. 60. 



THE VOW. 

In holy night we made the vow ; 

And the same lamp, which long before 
Had seen our early passion grow, 

Was witness to the faith we swore. 

Did I not swear to love her ever ? 

And have I«ever dared to rove ? 
Did she not vow a rival never 

Should shake her faith, or steal her love ? 

Yet now she says those words were air, 

Those vows were written all in water ; 
And, by the lamp that heard her swear. 

Hath yielded to the first that sought her. 

Merivale. 



SALE OF CUPID. 

Who'll buy a little boy ? Look, yonder is he, 

Fast asleep, the sly rogue, on his mother's knee ; 

So bold a young imp 'tis not safe to keep, 

So I'll part with him now, while he's sound asleep. 

See his arch little nose, how sharp it is curl'd, 

His wings, too, even in sleep unfurl'd ; 

And those fingers, which still ever ready are found 

For mirth or for mischief, to tickle or wound. 

He'll try with his tears your heart to beguile, 
But never you mind — he's laughing all the while ; 
For little he dares, so he has his own whim, 
And weeping or laughing, 'tis all one to him. 
His eye is as keen as the lightning's flash, 
His tongue, like the red bolt, keen and rash ; 
And so savage is he, that his own dear mother 
Is scarce, in his hands, more safe than another. 

In short, to sum up this prodigy's praise, 
He's a downright pest in all sorts of ways ; 
And if any one wants such an imp to employ, 
He shall have a dead bargain of this little boy. 
But see, the boy wakes — his bright tears flow — 
His eyes seem to ask, Could I sell him ? Oh, no ; 
Sweet child, no, no — though so naughty you be ; 
You shall live evermore with my Lesbia and me. 

Thomas JSIoore. 






B. C. CO.] MELEAQER. 281 



EPITAPH ON A YOUNG BRIDE. 

Cleaora, when she loosed lier virgin zone, 
Found in the nuptial bed an early grave ; 

Death claini'd the bridegroom's right ; to death alone 
The treasure guarded for her spouse she gave. 

To sweetest sounds the happy evening fled, 
The flute's soft strain and hymeneal choir ; 

At morn sad howlings echo round the bed, 
And the glad hymns on quivering lips expire. 

The very torches that at fall of night 

Shed their bright radiance o'er the bridal room ; 

Those very torches, with the morning's light, 
Conduct the victim to her silent tomb. 1 



Hm 



THE LOVER'S MESSAGE. 

Sea- wandering barks, that o'er the iEgean sail, 
With pennants streaming to the northern gale, 
If, in your course, the Coan strand ye reach, 
And see my Phanion musing on the beach, 
With eye intent upon the placid sea, 
And constant heart that only beats for me — 
Tell the dear maid, that mindful of her charms, 
Her lover hastens to her longing arms. 
Go, heralds of my soul ! to Phanion's ear 
On all your shrouds the tender accents bear ! 
So Jove shall calm with smiles the wave below, 
And bid for you his softest breezes blow. 



Bin ud. 



1 So in Shakspeare's "Romeo and Juliet:" — 

"All things that we ordain for festival, 
Turn from their office to black funeral : 
Our instruments to melancholy bells ; 
Our wedding cheer to a sad burial feast ; 
Our solemn hymns to sullen dirges change; 
Our bridal flowers serve for a buried corse." 

And likewise Herrick, in his lines "Upon a Maid that died the day sh< 
was married." 

" That morn which saw me made a bride, 
The evening witness'd that I died. 
Those holy lights, wherewith they guide 
Unto the bed the bashful bride, 
Serv'd but#s tapers for to burn, 
And light my reliqucs to their urn." 



288 MELEAGER. [b. C. 60. 



MUSIC AND BEAUTY. 

By the God of Arcadia, so sweet are trie notes 
Which tremulous fall from my Rhodope's lyre ; 

Such melody swells in her voice, as it floats 

On the soft midnight air, that my soul is on fire. 

Oh, where can I fly ? The young Cupids around me 

Gayly spread their light wings, all my footsteps pursuing ; 

Her eyes dart a thousand fierce lustres to wound me, 
And music and beauty conspire my undoing. 1 

Merivale. 



SPRING. 

Now Winter's storms, which chilled the sky, 

Before the tepid breezes fly ; 

Smiling advance the rosy hours, 

Strewing around their purple flowers ; 

Brown earth is crowned with herbage green, 

And decked with bloom each twig is seen ; 

The rose displays its lovely hues 

In meads which quaff the morning dews ; 

His whistle shrill the shepherd blows ; 

His kids the gladsome goatherd knows ; 

E'en now I see the sailor's boat, 

Wafted by gentle breezes, float ; 

And Bacchus' girls, with ivy crowned, 

Shout, Io ! through the echoing ground. 

The bees in clusters round the hive, 

Loaded with liquid sweets, arrive ; 

And, murmuring still in busy mood, 

Elaborate their luscious food. 

The race of warblers pour their throats ; 

The blue wave wafts the halcyon's notes ; 

The swallow twittering flits along ; ~| 

The white swan pours his piercing song ; I 

And Philomela mourns the woods among. j 

Does, then, the green earth teem with gladness ? 

Has nature dropt her robe of sadness ? 

Do the swains pipe ; the flocks rejoice ; 

The mountains echo Bacchus' voice ; 



Peace, Chloris, peace, or singing die ! 
That together you and I 

To heaven may go ; 

For all we know * 

Of what the blessed do above, 
Is that they sing, and that they love.— IT 'aller. 



B. C. 30.] DIONYSIUS IIALICARNASSUS. 289 

The mariners their sails unloose ; 
The bees distil their luscious juice ; 
Has spring inspired the warbling throng ? 
And can't the poet make a song 1 

J. S. Buckminster. 1 



DIONYSIUS HALICARNASSUS. 

FLOURISHED ABOUT 30 B. C. 

Dionysius the historian — called Halicarnassus from a city of that 
name, which was the place of his birth, though of its date we have no 
certain knowledge — went to Rome about 30 B. C, the second year of 
the reign of Augustus. Here he resided to the end of his life, spending 
his time in the study of the Latin language and literature, and in col- 
lecting materials for his great work on Roman history, called Archseo- 
logia. This consisted of twenty books, and contained the history of 
Rome from the earliest or mythical times down to the year of the first 
Punic war, when Polybius takes the subject up. Only the first nine 
books are complete ; of the tenth and eleventh we have the greater 
part, but of the others nothing more than fragments. From what we 
have, we see that he has treated the early history of Rome with great 
minuteness, discussing most carefully everything relating to her con- 
stitution and her religion, as well as to the history, laws, and private 
life of the Romans ; and though he shows at times too much credulity, 
and does not always distinguish with sufficient clearness between 
fable and history, his work is an inexhaustible treasure of valuable 
materials. 

Some of the rhetorical and critical works of Dionysius have come 
down to us, and show that he was not only a rhetorician of the first 
order, but also a most excellent critic in the highest and best sense of the 
term ; for these remains, though fragmentary, abound in fine remarks 
and criticisms upon the classical writers of Greece. The titles of these 
works are : 1. T&x VYi Pnro^m, The Art of Rhetoric, in eleven chapters. 
2. itejj a-wBiazaiq ovofxaroov, On the Arrangement of Words; in this he 
treats of the power of true oratory, and on the combination of words 
according to the different species and styles of oratory. 3. Tw riaXaiwv 
Xa^ajt-rnge?, Characters of the Ancients. 4. Tlsgi rZv attijcwv faro^m 'vjtqia.- 

1 For some account of this elegant scholar — the lamented pastor of Brattle 
Street Church, Boston — see my Compendium of American Literature, p. 282. 

25 



290 DIONYSIUS HALICARNASSUS. [B. C. 30. 

im/xctTirfAot, Memoirs of the Attic Orators, in three parts, of which we 
have only the first, and a fragment of the second. ' 

CHARACTER OF NTJMA. 

By these laws Xuma formed the city to frugality and tem- 
perance; justice in contracts he introduced by inventing a 
regulation which was unknown to all who instituted the most 
celebrated commonwealths. For, observing that contracts 
made in public, and before witnesses, are, from a regard to the 
persons present, generally performed, and that few are guilty 
of any violation of them ; but that those which are transacted 
without witnesses, being many more in number than the former, 
rest on no other security than the faith of the contractors, he 
thought it incumbent on him to make this faith the chief object 
of his care, and to render it worthy of divine worship. For he 
found that Justitia, Themis, Xemesis, and those the Greeks call 
Erinnyes, with others of that kind, had been sufficiently honored 
by the ancients in being erected into divinities and consecrated ; 
but that Faith, than which there is no greater nor more sacred 
virtue among men, was not yet worshipped, either by states in 
their public capacity, or by private persons. Having consi- 
dered these things, he, first of all men, erected a temple to 
public Faith, and instituted sacrifices to be performed to her, 
at the public expense, in the same manner as to the rest of the 
Gods. By this means the public faith of the city, which was 
preserved inviolate to all men, could not fail in time to com- 
municate the same fidelity to the behavior of private men. 
And, indeed, so sacred and inviolable a thing was faith in their 
estimation, that the greatest oath a man could take was, by his 
own faith ; and more depended upon than any other testimony. 
And if there happened any contest between two persons con- 
cerning the performance of a contract entered into without 
witnesses, the faith of either of the parties was sufficient to 
decide the controversy, and not suffer it to proceed any further. 
And the magistrates and courts of justice founded their decrees, 
in most causes, on the oaths of the parties attesting by their 
faith. These regulations, then invented by Noma, which per- 
suaded to temperance and enforced justice, rendered the city 
of Koine more orderly than the best regulated family. 

1 Editions: Hudson, Greek and Latin, Oxford, two volumes folio : Reiske, 
Greek and Latin, 1774-77, six volumes Svo. Translation : Edward Spelman, 
London, 1758, four volumes quarto. 



B. C. 30.] DIODORUS SICULUS. 291 

Thus Xuma became the darling of his subjects, the example 
of his neighbors, and the theme of posterity. It was owing to 
him, that neither civil dissension broke the harmony of the city, 
nor foreign war interrupted the observance of these wise and 
admirable institutions. For their neighbors were so far from 
looking upon the peaceful tranquillity of the Romans as an 
opportunity of invading them, that if at any time they were at 
war with one another they chose the Romans for mediators, 
and were willing to put an end to their contests under the 
arbitration of Numa. I should, therefore, make no difficulty 
in placing this person among the first of those who are the most 
celebrated for their happiness. For he was of a royal family, 
had a majestic aspect, and cultivated that kind of literature 
which, instead of useless eloquence, formed his mind to piety, 
and every other virtue. When he was young he was thought 
worthy to be king of the Romans, who, upon the reputation 
of his virtue, invited him to that dignity, which he exercised, 
during his whole life, over an obedient people. He lived to 
be very old, without any infirmity or misfortune, and died the 
easiest of all deaths, being worn out with age ; the genius, 
who had been allotted to him from his birth, having continued 
the same favor to him till he was no more. He lived above 
fourscore years, and reigned forty-three; leaving behind him, 
according to most historians, four sons and one daughter, 
whose posterity remain to this day ; but, according to Cneius 
Gellius, only one daughter, who was the mother of Ancus 
Marcius, the third king of the Romans after him. His death 
was exceedingly lamented by the city, who made a most splendid 
funeral for him. He lies buried upon the Janiculum, on the 
other side of the Tiber. 



DIODORUS SICULUS. 

FLOURISHED ABOUT 30 B. C. 

Diodorus Siculus was a contemporary of Csesar and Augustus, and 
was born in the town of Agyrium, in Sicily ; whence his name, the 
Sicilian. He early determined to devote his life to the writing of a uni- 
versal history, from the earliest times down to his own ; and with this 
object in view, he travelled over the greater part of Europe and Asia 
to gain a more accurate knowledge of nations and countries, than he 



292 DIODORUS SICULUS. [b. c. 30. 

could obtain from previous historians and geographers. His work, 
which he called An Historical Library (BiI?Xjo9>jx>i io-tojjjoj)? consisted of 
forty books, embracing the period from the earliest mythical ages 
down to Julius Caesar's Gallic wars. Only fifteen books of this great 
work have come down to us. The first five, which contain the early 
history of the Eastern nations, the ^Egyptians, the ^Ethiopians, and the 
Greeks, are extant entire ; the sixth, seventh, eighth, ninth, and tenth 
books are lost ; but from the eleventh to the twentieth inclusive, com- 
prising the period from the second Persian war, B. C. 480, down to the 
year 302 B. C, it is preserved. The remaining portion of the work is 
lost, with the exception of a few fragments. 

The style of Diodorus Siculus is clear and lucid, though devoid of 
all elegance. He is a laborious and industrious writer, and what we 
have of him is of the highest importance on account of the great mass 
of materials which he has collected from a number of writers whose 
works have irretrievably perished, and which, but for him, would have 
been lost to the world. l 



ALEXANDER'S NOBLE DEMEANOR TOWARDS THE FAMILY OF 
DARIUS. 

Darius with all his army being thus routed, fled, and, by 
changing from time to time one horse after another, the best 
he had, he made away with all speed, to escape out of the 
hands of Alexander, and to get to the governors of the upper 
provinces. In the mean time, one came to the mother of 
Darius, and told her that Alexander was returned from the 
pursuit of Darius, and had possessed himself of all the rich 
spoils of his tent. Upon which there was heard a great shriek 
and lamentation amongst the women, and, from the multitude 
of the captives condoling with the queen at the sad news, all 
places were filled with cries of anguish and horror. The king, 
understanding what sorrow there was among the women, sent 
Leonatus, one of his courtiers, to them, to put an end to their 
fears, and to let Sisygambis, the mother of Darius, know that 
her son was alive, and that Alexander would have respect to 
their former dignity; and that, to confirm the promise of his 

1 Editions : P. Wesseling, Greek and Latin, Amsterdam, 1746, two vols, 
folio; L. Dindorf, Leipsic, 1828-31, five volumes 8vo., "the most critical 
and valuable;" Heyne and Eyring, Greek and Latin, Bipont, 1793-1807, 
eleven volumes 8vo. Translations : G. Booth, London, 1814, two volumes. 
Henry Cogan, London, 1653, folio. 



B. C. 30.] DIODORUS SICULUS. 293 

generosity by his actions, he would come and discourse with 
them the day following. Whereupon the captives were so sur- 
prised with the sudden and happy turn of their fortunes, that 
they honored Alexander as a god, and their fears were turned 
into exultations of joy. The king, as soon as it was light (with 
Hephoestion, one of the trustiest of his friends), went to visit 
the queens. When they entered, being both habited alike, 
Sisygambis, taking Hephsestion for the king (because he was 
the more comely and taller man), fell prostrate at his feet ; but 
the attendants, by the nods of their heads, and pointing of their 
fingers, directed her to Alexander ; whereupon, being much 
ashamed and out of countenance, by reason of the mistake, she 
saluted Alexander in the same manner she had done the other. 
Upon which he lifted her up, and said — Mother, trouble not, 
nor perplex yourself; for that man also is Alexander. By 
which courteous and obliging title of mother to a grave and 
honorable matron, he gave a clear demonstration of the respects 
and civilities he intended towards them all. Having therefore 
owned her for a second mother, he presently confirmed his 
words by his actions; for he ordered her to be clothed in her 
royal robes, and restored her to all the honors becoming her 
former state and dignity. For he gave her all her attendants 
and household servants and furniture allowed her by Darius, 
and added also as much more of his own bounty. He pro- 
mised likewise to dispose of the young ladies in marriage far 
better than if their father had provided husbands for them; 
and that he would educate the king's little son as carefully and 
honorably as if he were his own. Then he called him to him, and 
kissed him; and, taking notice that he was not at all ashamed, 
nor seemed to be the least affrighted, turning to Hepheestion 
and those about him, "This youth, but six years of age," said 
he, "carries in his countenance marks of a stout and brave 
spirit, above his age, and is better than his father." He further 
declared, that he would take care of the wife of Darius, thsflt 
she should want for nothing, in order to the support and main- 
tenance of her royal state and former prosperity. Many other 
kind and gaining expressions he used, insomuch that the ladies 
fell a weeping in showers of tears, out of transports of joy, 
upon account of the greatness of their unexpected felicity. 
After all, he at length put forth to them his right hand to kiss, 
upon which not only they who were immediately honored with 
those kindnesses set forth his praise, but even the whole army 
cried up his incomparable grace and clemency. And, indeed, 
I conceive that amongst the many brave and noble acts of 

25* 



294 EPICTETUS. [a. d. 80. 

Alexander, none of them were greater than this, or more worthy 
by history to be handed down to posterity: for storming and 
taking of cities, gaining of battles, and other successes in war, 
are many times the events of fortune, more than the effects of 
valor and virtue; but to be compassionate to the miserable, 
and those that lie at the feet of the conqueror, must be the 
fruit only of wisdom and prudence. For many by prosperity 
grow haughty, and are so far swelled with pride by the favor- 
able blasts of fortune, that they are careless and forgetful of 
the common miseries of mankind ; so that it is common to see 
many sink under the weight of their prosperous successes, as a 
heavy burthen they are not able to bear. 

Therefore, though Alexander was many ages before us who 
are now living, yet the remembrance of his virtue justly chal- 
lenges honor and praise from all those that succeeded him in 
future generations. 



EPICTETUS. 

FLOURISHED ABOUT A. D. 80. 

This illustrious ornament of the Stoic school claims our attention 
both for his wisdom and his virtues. He was a native of Hieropolis, 
in Phrygia (Asia Minor), and in the first part of his life, having been 
seized and brought to Rome, he became the slave of one Epaphroditus, a 
freedman of Nero, a person of gross habits and unprincipled character. 
It is said that he was one day amusing himself in twisting the leg of 
his slave, to see how far he could twist it without breaking it ; when 
Epictetus, who murmured not at the torture, exclaimed, "You will 
b/eak it ;" and the event justified the prediction. " I told you so," 
added the philosopher, without changing a muscle of his countenance. 1 

1 "We can hardly conceive of the extent to which that "crime of crimes," 
slavery, existed among the Romans, -who spared neither age nor sex of the 
peoples of Europe and Asia whom they subdued. So extensive was this 
iniquitous commerce in the persons of men, that ten thousand are said to 
have exchanged hands in one day, at the island of Delos. Well did the 
pious Wesley pronounce slavery to be "the sum of all villanies ;''' and more 
recently, the gifted and eloquent Spurgeon, "the crime of crimes, a soul- 
destroying sin, and an iniquity which cries aloud for vengeance ; !; for it is 
the nurse of all wickedness and vice, and the prolific parent of covetousness. 
lust, licentiousness, tyranny, and every hateful passion : it has been the 
fruitful source of all troubles in states, a cancer in the vitals of every com- 



A. D. 80.] EPICTETUS. 205 

By some means, not mentioned, he obtained his freedom, and retired 
to a small hut within the city of Rome, where, with nothing more than 
the bare necessaries of life, he devoted himself to the study of philo- 
sophy, and became a very popular teacher of morals. He was a stoic 
of the severest principles and the most undisturbed equanimity, and 
an acute observer of manners. His life was an admirable pattern of 
sobriety, magnanimity, and the most rigid virtue. " Support pain and 
fly pleasure," was his leading precept. " Our actions," he said, " de- 
pend on ourselves ; all other things are independent of us : let us, 
therefore, devote our whole attention to the correction and amendment 
of the first ; but it is madness to make any effort to avoid the other, 
for they are entirely beyond our control." 

But neither his humble station nor his singular merit could screen 
Epictetus from the monster Domitian. With tbe rest of the philoso- 
phers he was banished, about A. D. 90. He bore his exile with a 
degree of firmness worthy of a philosopher who called himself a citizen 
of the world, and could boast that, wherever he went, he carried his 
best treasures along with him. He retired to Nicopolis, in Epirus, 
where he passed the remainder of his life in inculcating his philoso- 
phical principles to the numerous auditors who thronged to hear him. 
He is said to have spoken so impressively, and to have described 
the wickedness of the individual so vividly, that every one felt as if 
he were personally addressed. Estimating highly and rightly his 
vocation as a teacher, his great aim was to win the minds and hearts 
of his hearers to that which was good, and hardly any could resist the 
impressions which his teachings produced. 

Epictetus himself wrote nothing. He is chiefly known now by his 
beautiful Moral Manual, or "Enchiridion" (ev^e^i^ov), and his ".Dis- 
sertations." These were collected by his disciple Arrian, drawn up 
from notes which he and some other disciples collected from the lips 
of their great master. 1 

munity and nation that has cherished it, the downfall of every ancient king- 
dom. Twice was Rome, in the height of her power, brought nearly to the 
brink of sudden ruin, by servile insurrections ; and though, by the greatest 
efforts she maintained her external form of government, the disease, like a 
putrid pestilence, spread wider and wider, till at last she fell to pieces from 
her own rottenness. "The nation that will not serve Thee shall perish," Isa. 
lx. 12. "For the oppression of the poor, for the sighing of the needy, 
now will I arise, saith the Lord," Ps. xii. 5. "He shall break in pieces 
the oppressor," Ps. lxxii. 4. "Wo unto him that baildeth his house by 
unrighteousness, and his chambers by wrong," Jer. xxii. 13. Such quota- 
tions from the Scriptures might be multiplied without end. When will men 
really believe what God hath said, and act as if they believed ? 

1 This "Manual" was much read by Christians as well as Pagans. We 
have an excellent translation of it by Elizabeth Carter, whom Dr. Johnson 



296 EPICTETUS. [a. d. 80. 



A MAN IS WHAT HE IS IN HIMSELF. 

Things are reasonable and unreasonable, as well as good and 
bad, advantageous and disadvantageous, to different persons. 
On this account, chiefly, we stand in need of a liberal educa- 
tion, to teach us to adapt the preconceptions of reasonable and 
unreasonable to particular cases, conformably to nature. But 
to judge of reasonable and unreasonable, we make use not only 
of a due estimation of things without us, but of what relates to 
each person's particular character. Thus, it is reasonable for 
one man to submit to a dirty disgraceful office, who considers 
this only, that if he does not submit to it, he shall be whipt, 
and lose his dinner; but if he does, that he has nothing hard 
or disagreeable to suffer: whereas to another it appears insup- 
portable, not only to submit to such an office himself, but to 
bear with any one else who does. If you ask me, then, whether 
you shall do this dirty office or not, I will tell you it is a more 
valuable thing to get a dinner than not; and a greater disgrace 
to be whipt, than not to be whipt: so that, if you measure 
yourself by these things, go and do your office. 

" Ay, but this is not suitable to my character." 

It is you who are to consider that, not I: for it is you who 
know yourself, what value you set upon yourself, and at what 
rate you sell yourself: for different people sell themselves at 
different prices. 

Hence Agrippinus, 1 when Florus was considering whether 
he should go to Nero's shows, so as to perform some part in 
them himself, bid him go. "But why do not you go, then ?" 
says Florus. "Because," replied Agrippinus, "/do not de- 
liberate about it." For he who once sets himself about such 
considerations, and goes to calculating the worth of external 
things, approaches very near to those who forget their own 
character. 

pronounced the best Greek scholar in England. A good edition in Greek 
and Latin was published in Oxford, 1804, one volume 8vo., together with the 
"Picture of Cebes," the "Hercules of Prodicus, " and the " Characters of 
Theophrastus." 

1 Nero was remarkably fond of theatrical entertainments; and used to 
introduce upon the stage the descendants of noble families, whom want had 
rendered venal. 






A. D. 80.] EPICTETUS. 297 



HOW TO ACT ACCEPTABLY TO THE GODS. 

When a Persian inquired, How any one might eat accepta- 
bly to the Gods : if he eats with justice, says Epictetus, and 
gratitude; and' fairly and temperately, and decently, must he 
not also eat acceptably to the Gods ? And when you call for 
hot water, and your servant does not hear you ; or, if he doth, 
brings it only warm ; or perhaps is not to be found at home ; 
then, not to be angry, or burst with passion : is not this ac- 
ceptable to the Gods ? 

But how, then, can one bear such things? 

Wretch, will you not bear with your own brother, who hath 
God for his Father, as being a son from the same stock, and 
of the same high descent with yourself? But, if you chance 
to be placed in some superior station, will you presently set 
yourself up for a tyrant? Will you not remember what you 
are, and over whom you bear rule ? That they are by nature 
your relations, your brothers ; that they are the offspring of 
God? 

But I have them by right of purchase, and not they me. 

Do you see what it is you regard ? That it is earth and 
mire, and these wretched laws of dead men ; and that you do 
not regard those of the Gods. 1 



TRUE SUPERIORITY. 

When a person is possessed of some either real or imaginary 
superiority, unless he hath been well instructed, he will neces- 
sarily be puffed up with it. A tyrant, for instance, says: "I 
am supreme over all." And what can you do for me? Can 
you exempt my desires from disappointment ? How should 
you ? For do you never incur your own aversions ? Are your 
own pursuits infallible ? Whence should you come by that 
privilege ? Pray, on ship board, do you trust to yourself, or 
to the pilot ? In a chariot, to whom but to the driver ? And 
to whom in all other arts ? Just the same. In what, then, 
doth your power consist ? "All men pay regard to me." 

So do I to my desk. I wash it, and wipe it ; and drive a 

1 That is, the wicked laws of deceased legislators, who framed the enact- 
ments of slavery; and not the eternally just laws of God, who made all men 
equal. 



298 EP1CTETUS. [a. d. 80. 

nail, for the service of my oil flask. "What, then, are these 
things to be Yalued beyond me?" Xo : but they are of some 
use to me, and therefore I pay regard to them. Why, do not 
I pay regard to an ass ? Do 1 not wash his feet ? Do I not 
clean him ? Do not you know, that every one pays regard to 
himself; and to you, just as he doth to an ass ? For who pays 
regard to you as a man ? Show that. Who would wish to be 
like you? Who would desire to imitate you, as he would So- 
crates ? "But I can take off your head." You say right. I 
had forgot, that one is to pay regard to you as to a fever, or 
the colic ; and that there should be an altar erected to you, 
as there is to the goddess Fever at Rome. 

What is it, then, that disturbs and strikes terror into the 
multitude ? The tyrant and his guards ? By no means. What 
is by nature free, cannot be disturbed or restrained by anything 
but itself. But its own principles disturb it. Thus, when the 
tyrant says to any one: "I will chain your leg;" he who 
values his leg, cries out for pity ; while he, who sets the value 
on his own will and choice, says : " If you imagine it for your 
interest, chain it." "What! do not you care?" No: I do 
not care. " I will show you that I am master." You ? How 
should you? Jupiter has set me free. What ! do you think 
he would suffer his own son to be enslaved? You are master 
of my carcase. Take it. 

BE ALWAYS READY FOR THE SUMMONS. 

As in a voyage, when the ship is at anchor, if you go on 
shore to get water, you may amuse yourself with picking up a 
shell-fish, or an onion, in your way; but your thoughts ought 
to be bent towards the ship, and perpetually attentive, lest the 
captain should call ; and then you must leave all these things, 
that you may not be thrown into the vessel, bound neck aud 
heels, like a sheep. Thus likewise in life, if, instead of an 
onion, or shell-fish, such a thing as a wife or a child be granted 
you, there is no objection : but if the captain calls, run to the 
ship, leave all these things, regard none of them. But, if you 
are old, never go far from the ship : lest, when you are called, 
you should be unable to come in time. 

LOSSES BUT RESTORATIONS. 

Xever say of anything, "I have lost it;" but, "I have re- 
stored it." Is your child dead ? It is restored. Is your wife 
dead ? She is restored. Is your estate taken away? Well : 



A. D. 80.] EPICTETUS. 290 

and is not that likewise restored? "But he who took it away 
is a bad man." What is it to you, by whose hands He, who 
gave it, hath demanded it back again ? While He gives you 
to possess it, take care of it ; but as of something not your 
own, as passengers do of an inn. 

DAILY CONSIDER YOUR END. 

Let death and exile, and all other things which appear ter- 
rible, be daily before your eyes ; but chiefly death : and you 
will never entertain any abject thought, nor too eagerly covet 
anything. 

WOMAN'S TRUE ADORNMENT. 

Females from fourteen years old, perceiving that they are 
regarded only as qualified to give the men pleasure, begin to 
adorn themselves ; and in that to place all their hopes. It is 
worth while, therefore, to fix our attention on making them 
sensible that they are esteemed for nothing else but the appear- 
ance of a decent, and modest, and discreet behavior. 

OUR PROPERTY, NOT OURSELVES. 

These reasonings are unconnected : "I am richer than you ; 
therefore I am better : I am more eloquent than you ; there- 
fore I am better." The connection is rather this : "I am richer 
than you ; therefore my property is greater than yours : I am 
more eloquent than you ; therefore my style is better than 
yours." But you, after all, are neither property nor style. 

THE TRUE LOVER OF MANKIND. 

No one, who is a lover of money, a lover of pleasure, or a 
lover of glory, is likewise a lover of mankind : but only he who 
is a lover of virtue. 

THE BEST HABITATION. 

As you would not wish to sail in a large, and finely deco- 
rated, and gilded ship, and sink : so neither is it eligible to 
inhabit a grand and sumptuous house, and be in a storm of 
passions and cares. 

TRUE STANDARD OP ESTIMATION. 

They are pretty fellows, indeed, said he, who value them- 
selves on things not in our own power. I am a better man 



300 EPICTETUS. [a. d. 80. 

than you, says one; for I have many estates, and you are pining 
with hunger. I have been consul, says another ; I am a go- 
vernor, a third ; and I have a fine head of hair, says a fourth. 
Yet one horse does not say to another, "I am better than you ; 
for I have a great deal of hay, and a great deal of oats ; and I 
have a gold bridle, and embroidered trappings:" but, "I am 
swifter than you." And every creature is better or worse from 
its own good or bad qualities. Is man, then, the only creature 
which hath no natural good quality? And must we consider 
hair, and clothes, and ancestors, to judge of him ? 

TRUE HAPPINESS. 

As it is better to lie straitened for room upon a little couch 
in health, than to toss upon a wide bed in sickuess ; so it is 
better to contract yourself within the compass of a small for- 
tune, and be happy, than to have a great one, and be wretched. 

FORTUNE VS. CHARACTER. 

A horse is not elated, and doth not value himself on his fine 
manger or trappings, or saddle-cloths; nor a bird, on the warm 
materials of its nest : but the former, on the swiftness of his 
feet ; and the latter, of its wings. Do not you, therefore, glory 
in your eating, or dress ; or, briefly, in any external advan- 
tage; but in good nature and beneficence. 

THE TRUE FEAST. 

In every feast remember that there are two guests to be 
entertained, the body and the soul : and that what you give 
the body, you presently lose; but what you give the soul, 
remains for ever. 

TRUTH. 

1. It is better, by yielding to truth, to conquer opinion; 
than by yielding to opinion, to be defeated by truth. 

2. If you seek truth, you will not seek to conquer by all 
possible means : and, when you have found truth, you will 
have a security against being conquered. 

3. Truth conquers by itself; opinion, by foreign aids. 

FREEDOM AND SLAVERY. 

1. It is better, by living with one free person, to be fearless 
and free, than to be a slave in company with many. 









A. D. 80.] EPICTETUS. 301 

2. What you avoid suffering yourself, attempt not to impose 
on others. You avoid slavery, for instance: take care not to 
enslave. 1 For, if you can bear to exact slavery from others, 
you appear to have been first yourself a slave. For vice hath 
uo communication with virtue ; nor freedom with slavery. As 
a person in health would not wish to be attended by the sick, 
nor to have those who live with him be in a state of sickness ; 
so neither would a person who* is free, bear to be served by 
slaves, or to have those who live with him in a state of slavery. 

POWER OF KINDNESS. 

1. Who among you do not admire the action of Lycurgus 
the Lacedemonian ? For when he had been deprived of one 
of his eyes, by one of the citizens, and the people had delivered 
the young man to him, to be punished in whatever manner he 
should think proper ; Lycurgus forbore to give him any pun- 
ishment. But, having instructed him, and rendered him a 
good man, he brought him into the theatre: and, while the 
Lacedemonians were struck with admiration: "I received," 
says he, "this person from you, injurious and violent; and I 
restore him to you gentle, and a good citizen." 

2. When Pittacus had been unjustly treated by some person, 
and had the power of chastising him, he let him go ; saying, 
"Forgiveness is better than punishment: for the one is the 
proof of a gentle, the other of a savage nature." 

WHAT MAKES CITIES GOOD. 

Do not variegate the structure of your walls with Eubcean 
and Spartan stone : but adorn both the minds of the citizens, 
and of those who govern them, by the Grecian education. For 
cities are made good habitations by the sentiments of those who 
live in them ; not by wood or stone. 

THE MOB. 

As neither a goose is alarmed by gaggling, nor a sheep by 
bleating : so neither be you terrified by the voice of a senseless 
multitude. — As you do not comply with a multitude, when it 
injudiciously asks of you any part of your own property: so 
neither be disconcerted by a mob, when it endeavors to force 
you to any unjust compliance. 

How true this is ! The bodies of the poor blacks in our slave states are 
not more thoroughly enslaved than are the tongues and pens of the whites. 

26 



302 EPICTETUS. [a. d. 80. 



TRUE BENEVOLENCE. 

As the sun doth not wait for prayers and incantations, to he 
prevailed on to rise, but immediately shines forth, and is re- 
ceived with universal salutation ; so neither do you wait for 
applauses, and shouts, and praises, in order to do good ; but 
be a voluntary benefactor, and you will be beloved like the 
sun. 1 

HOPE. 

Thales being asked what was the most universally enjoyed 
of things, answered, "Hope : for they have it who have nothing 
else." 

PYRRHO. 

Pyrrho used to say, "There is no difference between living 
and dying." A person asked him, Why then do not you die? 
"Because," answered Pyrrho, "there is no difference." 

JUSTICE. 

Every place is safe to him who lives with justice. 

GOD ALL-SEEING. 

If you always remember that God stands by, an inspector 
of whatever you do, either in soul or body, you will never err, 
either in your prayers or actions ; and you will have God 
abiding with you. 

TEST OF FRIENDSHIP. 

In prosperity, it is very easy to find a friend ; in adversity, 
nothing is so difficult. 

CONTENTMENT. 

Fortify yourself with contentment : for this is an impregna- 
ble fortress. 

TRUTH. 

Prefer nothing to truth, not even the choice of friendship, 
lying within the reach of the passions : for by them justice is 
both confounded and darkened. — Truth is an immortal and an 

1 This simile is peculiarly beautiful ; and hath the force of an argument 
in the discourse of a stoic, who held the sun to be animated, and intelligent. 



A. D. 90.] PLUTARCH. 303 

eternal thing. It bestows, not a beauty which time will wither, 
nor a boldness of which the sentence of a judge can deprive 
us ; but the knowledge of what is just and lawful, distinguish- 
ing from them, and confuting what is unjust. 

THE BEST LEGACY. 

Choose rather to leave your children well instructed than 
rich. For the hopes of the learned are better than the riches 
of the ignorant. 

TRUE GREATNESS. 

They whose minds are the least grieved by calamities, and 
whose actions struggle the most against them, are the greatest 
both in public and in private life. 



PLUTARCH. 

FLOURISHED ABOUT A. D. 90. 

It seems not a little singular that one who has handed down to all 
coming time the lives of so many of the philosophers, poets, orators, 
and generals of antiquity, should he so little known himself, for we 
are quite ignorant of the particulars of Plutarch's own life, and what 
few facts we have are chiefly collected from his own writings. He 
was born at Clizeronea, a city of Bocotia, 1 in the latter half of the 
first century, of a family respectable in station and eminent in 
talents. He was educated at Delphi, and improved himself by the 
advantages of foreign travel. On his return he was employed by his 
country on an embassy to Rome, where he opened a school for youth, 
employing all his leisure time at that capital of the world and 
chief seat of erudition, in acquiring those vast stores of learning which 
he afterwards used for the delight and instruction of mankind. On 
the death of Trajan (A. D. 110), who was his munificent patron and 
friend, Plutarch returned to his native Cheeronea, where he lived to a 
very advanced age, the time of his death being unknown. Here he 

1 Boeotia was called in derision the land of fogs and of dulness ; but three 
of the brightest names in the Grecian annals rescue it from the reproach — 
Pindar, Epaminondas, and Plutarch. 



304 PLUTARCH. [a. d. 90. 

projected and completed his lives of illustrious men (bioi napa.x\n\ot, 
" Parallel Lives"), a work which has immortalized his name, and been 
honored with unbounded praise. 

In this treatise he exhibits and compares, in a very full and in- 
structive manner, the characters of the most distinguished Greeks 
and Romans. There are twenty -three parallels, giving the lives and 
characters of forty-six persons, to which is added the biography 
of five individuals taken singly. The twenty-three parallels are 
the following: 1. Theseus and Romulus; 2. Lycurgus and Numa ; 
3. Solon and Valerius Publicola ; 4. Themistocles and Camillus ; 5. 
Pericles and Quintus Fabius Maximus ; 6. Alcibiades and Coriolanus ; 
7. Timoleon and Paulus iEmilius ; 8. Pelopidas and Marcellus ; 9. 
Aristides and Cato the Elder; 10. Philopoemen and Flaminius ; 11. 
Pyrrhus and Marius ; 12. Lysander and Sylla ; 13. Cimon and Lucul- 
lus ; 14. Nicias and Crassus ; 15. Eumenes and Sertorius ; 16. Ago- 
silaus and Pompeius ; 17. Alexander and Caesar ; 18. Phocion and 
Cato the Younger ; 19. Agis and Cleomenes ; 20. Tiberius and Caius 
Gracchus ; 21. Demosthenes and Cicero ; 22. Demetrius Poliorcetes 
and Marcus Antonius ; 23. Dion and Marcus Junius Brutus. To these 
are added the lives of Artaxerxes Mnemon, Aratus, Galba, Otho, and 
Homer; though the last is deemed spurious. 

No ancient work, Greek or Latin, has been so universally popular 
as " Plutarch's Lives." The true grounds of this popularity are not to 
be found in their subjects so much as in his manner of treating them, 
and in the qualities of his own nature, as exhibited in his book. At 
the tomb of Achilles, Alexander declared that he esteemed him happy 
in having had so famous a poet as Homer to proclaim his actions ; and 
scarcely less fortunate were they who had such a biographer as Plutarch 
to record their lives. He himself has given us his conception of the 
true office of a biographer, and in this has explained in great part the 
secret of his excellence. " It must be borne in mind," he says, "that 
my design is not to write histories, but lives. And the most glorious 
exploits do not always furnish us with the clearest discoveries of 
virtue or vice in men ; sometimes a matter of less moment, an ex- 
pression or a jest, informs us better of their characters and inclina- 
tions than the most famous sieges, the greatest armaments, or the 
bloodiest battles whatsoever. Therefore, as portrait-painters are more 
exact in the lines and features of the face, in which the character is 
seen, than in the other parts of the body, so I must be allowed to give 
my more particular attention to the marks and indications of the souls 
of men ; and, while I endeavor by these to portray their lives, may be 



A. D. 90.] PLUTARCH. 305 

free to leave more weighty matters and great battles to be treated of 
by otliers." 1 

It is his fidelity to this principle, his dealing with events and cir- 
cumstances chiefly as they illustrate character, his delineation of the 
features of the souls of men, that constitute Plutarch's highest merit 
as a biographer. In his long series of lives of noble Grecians and 
Romans, the motives and principles which lay at the foundation of the 
characters of the men who moulded the fate of Greece and Rome, the 
reciprocal influences of their times upon these men and of these men 
upon their times, may all be traced with more or less distinctness and 
certainty. 

But the character of Plutarch himself, not less than his method of 
writing biography, explains his universal popularity, and gives its 
special charm and value to his book. He was a man of large and 
generous nature, of strong feeling, of refined tastes, of quick percep- 
tions. His mind had been cultivated in the acquisition of the best 
learning of his times, and was disciplined by the study of books as 
well as of men. He deserves the title of philosopher ; but his philo- 
sophy was of a practical rather than a speculative character — though 
he was versed in the wisest doctrines of the great masters of ancient 
thought, and in some of his moral works shows himself their not un- 
worthy follower. Above all, he was a man of cheerful and genial 
temper. A lover of justice and of liberty, his sympathies are always 
on the side of what is right, noble, and honorable. He believed 
in a divine ordering of the world, and saw obscurely through the 
mists and shadows of heathenism the indications of the wisdom and 
rectitude of an overruling Providence. To him man did not appear 
as the sole arbiter of his own destiny ; but rather as an unconscious 
agent in working out the designs of a Higher Power ; and yet, as 
these designs were only dimly and imperfectly to be recognized, the 
noblest man was he who was truest to the eternal principles of right, 
who was most independent of the chances and shiftings of fortune, 
who, " fortressed on conscience and impregnable will," strove to live 
in the manliest and most self-supported relations with the world, 
neither fearing nor hoping much in regard to the uncertainties of the 
future. 2 

It has been well said that biography is nowhere more agreeable, 
and history nowhere so essentially moral as in this writer. It is the 
man who occupies his thoughts more than the event. His parallels 

1 Life of Alexander, at the beginning. 

2 Read an admirable criticism on Plutarch, in the Atlantic Monthly, for 
January, 1860. 

26* 



306 PLUTARCH. [A. D. 90. 

are perfect compositions, both in style and manner. In his admiration 
of shining qualities, he does not forget to give the proper estimate to 
those which are useful and solid. He carefully examines and duly 
appreciates everything ; confronts the hero with himself, the actions 
with the motives, the success with the means, the faults with the 
excuses. Justice, virtue, and a love of truth are the sole objects of 
his esteem ; and his judgment is formed with great reserve and care. 
His reflections are a treasure of wisdom and sound policy, and should 
be engraven on the hearts of all those who are emulous to direct their 
public and private life by the unerring rules of integrity. 

But Plutarch was something more than a biographer: he was a 
voluminous writer on miscellaneous subjects, and sixty different 
works are ascribed to him, most of which are lost. His " Moralia," or 
Ethical works, give him a high rank as a practical moralist, full of 
sound views on the ordinary events of human life. His "Marriage 
Precepts" are a sample of his good sense, and of his happiest expres- 
sion. He rightly appreciated the importance of a good education, and 
he gave much sound advice on the bringing up of children. ' 



ARISTIDES. 

In all the vicissitudes of public affairs, the constaucy Aris- 
tides showed was admirable, not being elated with honors, and 
demeaning himself tranquilly and sedately in adversity; hold- 
ing the opinion that he ought to offer himself to the service of 
his country without mercenary views and irrespectively of any 
reward, not only of riches, but even of glory itself. Hence it 
came, probably, that at the recital of these verses of ^Eschylus 
in the theatre, relating to Amphiaraus, 

For not at seeming just, but being so 

He aims ; and from his depth of soil below, 

Harvests of wise and prudent counsels grow, — 

the eyes of all the spectators turned on Aristides, as if this 
virtue, in an especial manner, belonged to him. 

He was a most determined champion for justice, not only 

1 Editions : Bryan, London, 1729, five volumes quarto, with Latin version ; 
G. H. Schaefer, Leipsic, 1826, six volumes 8vo., with notes, original and 
selected ; C. Sintenis, Leipsic, ] 839-1840, four volumes 8vo. Translations: 
The English version of John and William Langhorne is the one hitherto most 
known ; but lately a new translation has appeared by many eminent Greek 
scholars of England, and edited by A. H. Clough : this is undoubtedly the 
best we now have. 



A. D. 90.] PLUTARCH. 307 

against feelings of friendship and favor, but wrath and malice. 
Thus it is reported of him that when prosecuting the law 
against one who was his enemy, when the judges after accusa- 
tion refused to hear the criminal, and proceeded immediately 
to pass sentence upon him, he rose in haste from his seat and 
joined in petition with him for a hearing, and that he might 
enjoy the privilege of the law. Another time, when judging 
between two private persons, on the one declaring his adver- 
sary had very much injured Aristides : " Tell me rather, good 
friend," said he, "what; wrong he has done you : for it is your 
cause, not my own, which I now sit judge of." Being chosen 
to the charge of the public revenue, he made it appear, that 
not only those of his time, but the preceding officers, had alien- 
ated much treasure, and especially Themistocles : — 

Well known he was an able man to be, 
But with his fingers apt to be too free. 

Therefore, Themistocles, associating several persons against 
Aristides, and impeaching him when he gave in his accounts, 
caused him to be condemned of robbing the public ; so Ido- 
meneus states ; but the best and chiefest men of the city much 
resenting it, he was not only exempted from the fine imposed 
upon him, but likewise again called to the same employment. 
Pretending now to repent him of his former practice, and car- 
rying himself with more remissness, he became acceptable to 
such as pillaged the treasury, by not detecting or calling them 
to an exact account. So that those who had their fill of the 
public money began highly to applaud Aristides, and sued to 
the people, making interest to have him once more chosen trea- 
surer. But when they were upon the point of election, he re- 
proved the Athenians. "When I discharged my office well 
and faithfully," said he, "I was insulted and abused; but now 
that I have allowed the public thieves in a variety of malprac- 
tices, I am considered an admirable patriot. I am more 
ashamed, therefore, of this present honor than of the former 
sentence ; and I commiserate your condition, with whom it is 
more praiseworthy to oblige ill men, than to conserve the reve- 
nue of the public." Saying thus, and proceeding to expose 
the thefts that had been committed, he stopped the mouths of 
those who cried him up and vouched for him, but gained real 
and true commendation from the best men. 

Of all his virtues, the common people were most affected 
with his justice, because of its continual and common use ; 
and thus, although of mean fortune and ordinary birth, he 



308 PLUTARCH, [a. d. 90. 

possessed himself of tlie most kingly and divine appellation of 
Just ; which kings, however, and tyrants have never sought 
after ; but have taken delight to be surnamed besiegers of 
cities, thunderers, conquerors, or eagles again, and hawks; 
affecting, it seems, the reputation which proceeds from power 
and violence, rather than that of virtue. Although the divinity, 
to whom they desire to compare and assimilate themselves, 
excels, it is supposed, in three things, immortality, power, and 
virtue ; of which three, the noblest and divinest is virtue. 



OSTRACISM OF ARISTIDES. 

Aristides had at first the fortune to be beloved for his surname, 
"the Just," but at length envied. Especially when Themisto- 
cles spread a rumor among the people, that, by determining and 
judging all matters privately, he had destroyed the courts of 
judicature, and was secretly making way for a monarchy in his 
own person, without the assistance of guards. Moreover, the 
spirit of the people, now grown high, and confident with their 
late victory, naturally entertained feelings of dislike to all of 
more than common fame and reputation. Coming together, 
therefore, from all parts into the city, they banished Aristides 
by the ostracism, giving their jealousy of his reputation the 
name of fear of tyranny. For ostracism was not the punish- 
ment of any criminal act, but was speciously said to be the 
mere depression and humiliation of excessive greatness and 
power ; and was in fact a gentle relief and mitigation of envi- 
ous feeling, which was thus allowed to vent itself in inflicting 
no intolerable injury, only a ten years' banishment. It was 
performed in this manner. Every one taking an ostracon, a 
sherd, that is, or piece of earthenware, wrote upon it the citi- 
zen's name he would have banished, and carried it to a certain 
part of the market-place surrounded with wooden rails. First, 
the magistrates numbered all the sherds in gross (for if there 
were less than six thousand, the ostracism was imperfect) ; then, 
laying every name by itself, they pronounced him whose name 
was written by the larger number, banished for ten years, with 
the enjoyment of his estate. As, therefore, they were writing 
the names on the sherds, it is reported that an illiterate, clown- 
ish fellow, giving Aristides his sherd, supposing him a common 
citizen, begged him to write Aristides upon it ; and he being- 
surprised and asking if Aristides had ever done him any injury, 
"Xone at all," said he, " neither know I the man; but I am 






A. D. 90.] PLUTARCH. 309 

tired of hearing him everywhere called the Just." Aristides, 
hearing this, is said to have made no reply, but returned the 
sherd with his own name inscribed. At his departure from the 
city, lifting up his hands to heaven, he made a prayer (the re- 
verse, it would seem, of that of Achilles), that the Athenians 
might never have any occasion which should constrain them to 
remember Aristides. 



THE HORRIBLE PROSCRIPTIONS OP SYLLA. 

Sylla being thus wholly bent upon slaughter, and filling the 
city with executions without number or limit, many wholly un- 
interested persons falling a sacrifice to private enmity, through 
his permission and indulgence to his friends, Caius Metellus, 
one of the younger men, made bold in the senate to ask him 
what end there was of these evils, and at what point he might 
be expected to stop? "We do not ask you," said he, "to 
pardon any whom you have resolved to destroy, but to free 
from doubt those whom you are pleased to save." Sylla 
answering, that he knew not as yet whom to spare, "Why 
then," said he, " tell us whom you will punish." This Sylla 
said he would do. These last words, some authors say, were 
spoken not by Metellus, but by Afidius, one of Sylla's fawning 
companions. Immediately upon this, without communicating 
with any of the magistrates, Sylla proscribed eighty persons, 
and notwithstanding the general indignation, after one day's 
respite, he posted two hundred and twenty more, and on the 
third, again, as many. In an address to the people on this oc- 
casion, he told them he had put up as many names as he could 
think of; those which had escaped his memory, he would pub- 
lish at a future time. He issued an edict likewise, making 
death the punishment of humanity, proscribing any who should 
dare to receive and cherish a proscribed person, without excep- 
tion to brother, son, or parents. And to him who should slay 
any one proscribed person, he ordained two talents reward, even 
were it a slave who had killed his master, or a son his father. 
And what was thought most unjust of all, he caused the at- 
tainder to pass upon their sons, and son's sons, and made open 
sale of all their property. Nor did the proscription prevail 
only at Rome, but throughout all the cities of Italy the effu- 
sion of blood was such, that neither sanctuary of the gods, nor 
hearth of hospitality, nor ancestral home escaped. Men were 
butchered in the embraces of their wives, children in the arms 



310 PLUTARCH. [A. D. 90. 

of their mothers. Those who perished through public ani- 
mosity, or private enmity, were nothing in comparison of the 
numbers of those who suffered for their riches. Even the mur- 
derers began to say, that "his fine house killed this man, a gar- 
den that, a third, his hot baths." Quintus Aurelius, a quiet, 
peaceable man, and one who thought all his part in the com- 
mon calamity consisted in condoling with the misfortunes of 
others, coming into the forum to read the list, and finding him- 
self among the proscribed, cried out, "Woe is me, my Alban 
farm has informed against me." He had not gone far, before 
he was dispatched by a ruffian, sent on that errand. 



DEMOSTHENES AND CICERO COMPARED. 

Omitting an exact comparison of the respective faculties in 
speaking of Demosthenes and Cicero, yet thus much seems fit 
to be said ; that Demosthenes, to make himself a master in 
rhetoric, applied all the faculties he had, natural or acquired, 
wholly that way ; that he far surpassed in force and strength 
of eloquence all his contemporaries in political and judicial 
speaking, in grandeur and majesty all the panegyrical orators, 
and in accuracy and science all the logicians and rhetoricians 
of his day ; that Cicero was highly educated, and by his dili- 
gent study became a most accomplished general scholar in all 
these branches, having left behind him numerous philosophical 
treatises of his own on Academic principles ; as, indeed, even 
in his written speeches, both political and judicial, we see him 
contiuually trying to show his learning by the way. And one 
may discover the different temper of each of them in their 
speeches. For Demosthenes' oratory was without all embel- 
lishment and jesting, wholly composed for real effect and 
seriousness ; not smelling of the lamp, as Pytheas scoffingly 
said, but of the temperance, thoughtfulness, austerity, and 
grave earnestness of his temper. Whereas Cicero's love of 
mockery ofteu ran him into scurrility ; and in his love of laugh- 
ing away serious arguments in judicial cases by jests and face- 
tious remarks, with a view to the advantage of his clients, he 
paid too little regard to what was decent. Indeed, Cicero was 
by natural temper very much disposed to mirth and pleasantry, 
and always appeared with a smiling and serene countenance. 
But Demosthenes had constant care and thoughtfulness in his 
look, and a serious anxiety, which he seldom, if ever, laid aside; 






A. D. 90.] PLUTARCH. 311 

and, therefore, was accounted by his enemies, as he himself con- 
fessed, morose and ill-mannered. 

Also, it is very evident, out of their several writings, that 
Demosthenes never touched upon his own praises but decently 
and without offence when there was need of it, and for some 
weightier end ; but, upon other occasions, modestly and spar- 
ingly. But Cicero's immeasurable boasting of himself in his 
orations argues him guilty of an uncontrollable appetite for 
distinction, his cry being evermore that arms should give place 
to the gown, and the soldier's laurel to the tongue. 1 And at 
last we find him extolling not only his deeds and actions, but 
his orations also, as well those that were only spoken, as those 
that were published. * * 

The power of persuading and governing the people did, in- 
deed, equally belong to both, so that those who had armies and 
camps at command stood in need of their assistance. But what 
are thought and commonly said most to demonstrate and try 
the tempers of men, namely, authority and place, by moving 
every passion, and discovering every frailty, these are things 
which Demosthenes never received : nor was he ever in a posi- 
tion to give such proof of himself, having never obtained any 
eminent office, nor led any of those armies into the field against 
Philip which he raised by his eloquence. Cicero, on the other 
hand, was sent qucestor into Sicily, and proconsul into Cilicia 
and Cappadocia, at a time when avarice was at the height, and 
the commanders and governors who were employed abroad, as 
though they thought it a mean thing to steal, set themselves to 
seize by open force ; so that it seemed no heinous matter to 
take bribes, but he that did it most moderately was in good 
esteem. And yet he, at this time, gave the most abundant 
proofs alike of his contempt of riches and of his humanity and 
good nature. And at Borne, when he was created consul in 
name, but indeed received sovereign and dictatorial authority 
against Catiline and his conspirators, he attested the truth of 
Plato's prediction, that then the miseries of states would be at 
an end, when by a happy fortune supreme power, wisdom, and 
justice should be united in one. 3 * * 

Finally, Cicero's death excites our pity; for an old man to 
be miserably carried up and down by his servants, flying and 

1 Translating Cicero's famous verse upon himself — 

Cedant arma toga>, concedat laurea lingua;. 

' Or, as the dictum is in his Republic, "When the philosopher should he 
kino;." 



312 ARRIAN. [A. D. 140. 

hiding himself from that death which was, in the course of na- 
ture, so near at hand ; and yet at last to be murdered. Demos- 
thenes, though he seemed at first a little to supplicate, yet, by 
his preparing and keeping the poison by him, demands our ad- 
miration : and still more admirable was his using it. When 
the temple of the god no longer afforded him a sanctuary, he 
took refuge, as it were, at a mightier altar, freeing himself 
from arms and soldiers, and laughing to scorn the cruelty of 
Antipater. 



ARRIAN. 

FLOURISHED ABOUT A. D. 140. 

Arrianus, of Niconiedia, in Bithynia, was born towards the end of 
the first century after Christ. He was a pupil and friend of Epictetus, 
through whose influence he became a zealous and active admirer of 
the stoic philosophy, and more especially of the practical part of the 
system. He formed his style on that of Xenophon, and so imitated 
the sweetness and purity of his model, that the Athenians called him 
the young Xenophon. In A. D. 124 he gained the friendship of the 
Emperor Hadrian, and had the rights of Roman citizenship conferred 
upon him. In A. D 136 he was appointed Prasfect of Cappadocia, and 
in 146, under Antoninus Pius, was promoted to the consulship. In 
his later years he appears to have withdrawn from public life, and 
from about A. D. 150 he lived in his native place, devoting himself 
entirely to study, and the composition of historical works ; and died 
at an advanced age, in the reign of Marcus Aurelins. 

Arrian was one of the most industrious and best writers of his time. 
His chief works were : 1. The Philosophical Lectures of his master, 
Epictetus, in eight books, of which half are extant. 2. Familiar 
Conversations with Epictetus, in twelve books, which is lost. 3. An 
Abstract of the Practical Philosophy of Epictetus, still extant. 4. 
A Life of Epictetus, now lost. 5. A Treatise on the Chase. 6. An 
Account of the Asiatic Expedition of Alexander the Great. This is the 
work by which he is now most known, and a work of great excellence 
it is. Based upon the most trustworthy of the historians of Alexan- 
der's time, whose works are now lost, it gives us the most accurate 
account of the expedition of that wonderful man into the heart of 
Asia, and comments upon his deeds and his general character with 






A. D. 140.] ARRIAN. 313 

great fairness and sound judgment. Another great merit of the work 
is the clearness and distinctness with which he describes all military 
movements and operations, the drawing up of the troops for battle, 
and the conduct of battles and sieges. He seldom introduces speeches, 
but when he does they are admirable, and in fine harmony with the 
character who makes them. 7. A work on India. 8. A work on Tactics. 
9. A Description of a Voyage around the Coast of the Euxine Sea 
(negnrXovg tiovtov Ev£emv) . 10. A Life of Dion. 11. A Life of Timoleon. 
12. A Life of Tilliborus, a notorious Asiatic robber of the time. 13. A 
History of the Successors of Alexander the Great. 14. A History of the 
Parthians, in seventeen books. 15. A History of Bithynia, in eight 
books. 16. A History of the Alani. 17. A Voyage around the Red 
Sea (rrgtiTrXoy? Eguflgu? GaXao-s-Ji?) has also been attributed to him. l 



TOMB OP CYRUS THE GREAT. 

The tomb of Cyrus was placed in the royal gardens at 
Pasargada, and round it was planted a grove of all kinds of 
trees : the place also was well watered, and the surface of the 
earth all round clothed with a beautiful verdure. The basis 
thereof consisted of one large stone of a quadrangular form. 
Above was a small edifice, with an arched roof of stone, and a 
door or entrance so very narrow, that the slenderest man could 
scarce pass through. Within this edifice was the golden coffin, 
wherein the body of Cyrus was preserved, as also the bed, 
whose supporters were of massy gold, curiously wrought ; the 
covering thereof was of Babylonian tapestry, the carpets un- 
derneath of the finest wrought purple : the cloak and other 
royal robes were of Babylonian, but his drawers of Median 
workmanship. Their color was chiefly purple ; but some of 
them were of various dyes. The chain round his neck, his 
bracelets, his ear-rings, and his sword, were all of gold, adorned 
with precious stones. A costly table was also placed there, 
and a bed, whereon lay the coffin which contained the king's 
body. There was also within the inclosure, near the ascent to 
the tomb, a small house built for the Magi, who had the keep- 
ing of the tomb : that charge was conferred on them by Cam- 

1 Editions: Expedition of Alexander, best, Schneider, Greek and Latin, 
Leipsic, 1798 ; India, Schneider, Hal., 1788. Translations : Alexander's Ex- 
pedition, J. Rooke, London, two vols. 8vo. ; The Voyage of Nearchus, from 
the Indus to the Euphrates, by fm. Vincent, D. D., London, 1797, quarto ; 
A Voyage round the Euxine Sea, accompanied with a Geographical Disserta- 
tion and Map, by Wm. Vincent, 1>. D., London, 1805, quarto. 

27 



314 ARRIAN. [A. D. 140. 

byses, the son of Cyrus, and descended from the fathers to their 
children. They had a sheep allowed every day for their main- 
tenance, with a certain quantity of wine and flour ; and a horse 
was sent them once every month to sacrifice to Cyrus. The 
inscription, which was written in the Persian language, was to 
this purpose : " mortal, I am Cyrus, son of Cambyses, founder 
of the Persian monarchy, and sovereign of Asia : envy me not 
therefore this monument." 

Alexander had had a vast ambition of seeing this monument, 
from the moment he became lord of the Persian monarchy, but 
at his coming there he found all gone, except the bed and 
coffin ; nay, they had not even spared the royal body, for the 
cover of the coffin was torn off and taken away, and the body 
cast forth : they had attempted also to carry off the coffin, and 
had accordingly battered and bruised it much, by endeavoring 
to break it in pieces, for the more easy conveyance ; but not 
being able to compass their designs, they were forced to leave 
it. Aristobulus assures us, that he was appointed by Alexan- 
der to see this monument restored, that the parts of the royal 
body which still remained should be again laid in the coffin, 
and a new cover be made, that whatever was broken should be 
made whole. That the bed should be adorned with crowns, 
and other ornaments, like those which had been taken away, 
the same both as to number, form, and value ; and that the 
entrance into the little edifice should be walled up with stone, 
and the royal signet applied thereto. After this, Alexander 
seized the magi, and examined them strictly concerning the 
authors of this villany, but they w T ould neither confess anything 
of themselves, nor others ; and there being no proof against 
them, they were acquitted. 



CHARACTER OF ALEXANDER. 

Alexander died in the hundred and fourteenth Olympiad, 1 as 
Aristobulus informs us, when Hegesias was archon at Athens, 
after he had lived thirty-two years and eight months, and 
reigned twelve years and eight months. His body was beauti- 
ful and well proportioned; his mind -brisk and active; his 
courage wonderful. He was strong enough to undergo hard- 
ships, and willing to meet dangers; ever ambitious of glory, 
and a strict observer of religious duties. As to those plea- 

1 Maj or June, 323 B. 0. 



A. D. 140.] ARRIAN. 315 

saves which regarded the body, he showed himself indifferent ; 
as to the desires of the mind, insatiable. In his counsels he 
was sharp-sighted and cunning, and pierced deep into doubtful 
matters, by the force of his natural sagacity. In marshalling, 
arming, and governing an army, he was thoroughly skilled; 
and famous for exciting his soldiers with courage, and ani- 
mating them with hopes of success, as also in dispelling their 
private fears by his own example of magnanimity. He always 
entered upon desperate attempts with the utmost resolution 
and vigor, and was ever diligent in taking any advantage of 
his enemy's delay, and falling upon them unawares. He was 
a most strict observer of his treaties; notwithstanding which, 
he was never taken at a disadvantage, by any craft or perfidy 
of his enemies. He was sparing in his expenses for his own 
private pleasures, but, in the distribution of his bounty to his 
friends, liberal and magnificent. 

If anything can be laid to Alexander's charge, as committed 
in the heat and violence of wrath, or if he may be said to have 
imitated the barbarian pride a little too much, and borne him- 
self too haughtily, I cannot think them such vast crimes. And 
especially when one calmly considers his green years, and un- 
interrupted series of success, it will appear no great wonder if 
court sycophants, who always flatter princes to their detriment, 
sometimes led him away. But this must be said in his behalf, 
that all antiquity has not produced an example of such sincere 
repentance in a king as he has showed us. For the greatest 
part of men, though they be ever so conscious of their own 
crimes, imagine they can cover them from the knowledge of 
others, by setting them up for virtues; but, in my opinion, the 
only means of mollifying a erime is, the free acknowledgment 
thereof, and the giving manifest signs of penitence ; for who- 
ever has received an injury, is willing to think himself less 
grieved if the aggressor confesses his guilt, and he has some 
hopes that he will never suffer by him again when he sees him 
so sincerely concerned for what is past. I cannot condemn 
Alexander for endeavoring to draw his subjects into the belief 
of his divine origin, nor be induced to believe it any great 
crime, because it is very reasonable to imagine he intended no 
more by it than merely to procure the greater authority among 
his soldiers. Neither was he less famous than Minos, or JEacus, 
or Rhadamanthus, who all of them challenged kindred with 
Jove; and none of the ancients condemned them for it; nor 
were his glorious actions any way inferior to those of Theseus, 
or Ion, though the former claimed Neptune, and the latter 



316 ARRIAN. [A. D. 140. 

Apollo, for his father. His assuming and wearing the Persian 
habit seems to have been done with a political view, that he 
might appear not altogether to despise the barbarians, and 
that he might also have some curb to the arrogance and inso- 
lence of his Macedonians. And for this cause, I am of opinion, 
he placed the Persian Melophori among his Macedonian troops 
and squadrons of horse, and allowed them the same share of 
honor. Long banquets and deep drinking, Aristobulus assures 
us, were none of his delights; neither did he prepare entertain- 
ments for the sake of the wine (which he did not greatly love, 
and seldom drank much of), but to keep up a mutual amity 
among his friends. 

Whoever, therefore, attempts to condemn or calumniate 
Alexander, does not so much ground his accusation upon 
those acts of his which really deserve reproof, but gathers all 
his actions as into one huge mass, and forms his judgment 
thereupon : but let any man consider seriously who he was, 
what success he always had, and to what a pitch of glory he 
arrived ; who, without controversy, reigned king of both con- 
tinents, and whose name has spread through all parts of the 
habitable world, and he will easily conclude, that in comparison 
with his great and laudable acts, his vices and failings are few 
and trifling, and which, in so prodigious a run of prosperity, 
if they could be avoided (considering his repentance and ab- 
horrence of them afterwards), may easily be overlooked, and 
are not of weight sufficient to cast a shade upon his reign. 
For I am persuaded there was no nation, city, nor people then 
in being, whither his name did not reach ; for which reason, 
whatever origin he might boast of, or claim to himself, there 
seems to me to have been some divine hand presiding both 
over his birth and actions, insomuch that no mortal upon earth 
either excelled or equalled him ; and this seems to have been 
signified by the presages at his death, the apparitions seen by 
sundry people in dreams as well as waking; the honors so near 
divine, which were decreed him ; and, lastly, the responses of 
oracles pronounced in honor of him, to the Macedonian nation, 
so long after his decease. And though I take the freedom, in 
this history of his actions, sometimes to censure him, yet I 
cannot but own myself an admirer of them all together. I 
have, however, fixed a mark of reproach on some of them, as 
well for the sake of truth as of public benefit, on which ac- 
count, by the assistance of Providence, I undertook this work. 



A. D. 160-] LUCIAN. 3 IT 



LUCIAN. 

FLOURISHED ABOUT A. D. 160. 

This celebrated, witty, and voluminous Greek writer was born in 
Samosata, a city of Syria, on the upper Euphrates, The poverty of 
his father prevented him from obtaining the advantages of an early 
education, and he was put to the trade of a sculptor. But he could 
not brook this, and therefore resolved to devote himself to liberal 
studies. For a considerable time he practised at the bar, at Antioch, 
and afterwards gained great reputation for eloquence in journeys 
which he made through Gaul, Macedonia, Ionia, and Achaia ; but be- 
coming at length disgusted with the legal profession, he gave himself 
wholly to philosophy and literature. The emperor Marcus Aurelius 
appointed him register or clerk to the Roman governor of Egypt. He 
is said to have lived to his ninetieth year. 

The numerous and miscellaneous writings of Lucian may be classed 
under seven heads : 1. Rhetorical Works ; 2. Critical ; 3. Biographi- 
cal ; 4. Romances ; 5. Dialogues ; 6. Miscellaneous Pieces ; 7. Poems. 
Of all these, the Dialogues are his masterpieces, and on these his fame 
chiefly rests. They are written in the Attic style and with true Attic 
wit, and fairly entitle him to be considered as the most entertaining 
of all the Greek prose writers ; for, as Erasmus remarks, such is the 
beauty of his diction, the felicity of his invention, the playfulness of 
his wit, the keenness of his sarcasms ; so happy is his combination 
of the gay with the serious and the serious with the gay ; there is so 
much truth in his pleasantry and so much pleasantry in his expres- 
sion of truth ; such is his power of exhibiting, as with a pencil, the 
characters, passions, and dispositions of men ; such is his art in pre- 
senting things, not to be read merely, but to be seen by the eyes, that, 
whether you regard pleasure or profit, no comedy or satire will bear 
a comparison with these dialogues. 

The main object of his dialogues is to hold up to ridicule and con- 
tempt the whole system of heathen mythology, and also much of the 
ancient philosophy. In doing this he wrote with such freedom, bold- 
ness, and wit, that he drew down upon himself the general censure of 
his contemporaries, and gained the appellation of atheist and blas- 
phemer, just as men now-a-days, who stand out boldly against the 
wickedness and corruptions of the times, must expect all manner of 
reproach from those whose sins they expose. Lucian happily deline- 
ates the prevailing vices and meannesses of his times, in which para- 

2T* 



318 LUCIAN. [a. d. ICO. 

sites, and fortune-hunters, and pocket-moralists abounded, and so 
graphic are his portraits of avarice and baseness, that the disgust 
which they excite always terminates in satisfaction at the punishment 
which the writer inflicts upon the various characters. Here his moral- 
ity has a sterling value, since it is adapted for the instruction of all 
places and all times. 1 



CR(ESUS, PLUTO, MENIPPUS, MIDAS, AND SARDANAPALUS. 

Crcesus. Pluto, there is no snch thing as living with this 
intolerable dog, Menippus ; 2 remove him, I beseech you, to 
some other place, or we must decamp. 

Pluto. Why, what harm can he do you, now he is dead ? 

Crcesus. Whilst we are weeping, and groaning, and lament- 
ing the loss of the good things we possessed in the other world, 
Midas his gold, Sardanapalus his dainties, and I my treasures, 
he is perpetually laughing at, and abusing us, calling us a pack 
of slaves and rascals ; besides, he disturbs our complaints every 
minute with his singing ; and, in short, is excessively trouble- 
some. 

Pluto. Menippus, what is this they say of you ? 

Menippus. Truth, O Pluto, nothing but truth : for I abo- 
minate these contemptible wretches, who, not content with 
having led most iniquitous lives on earth, are perpetually cry- 
ing and hankering after the same things here below. I own 
it gives me pleasure to torment them a little. 

Pluto. But you should not : they have reason enough to 
complain, considering what they have lost. 

Menippus. And are you really, Pluto, so mad as to approve 
of their lamentations? 

Pluto. Xot so : but I would have no dissensions amongst 
you. 

Menippus. Be assured, ye worst of Lydians, Phrygians, 
and Assyrians, that wherever you go, I will follow and perse- 
cute you ; will make you the subject of my songs, laughter, 
and ridicule. 

Croesus. Is not this a shame ? 

1 Editions : Bipont edition, 1789-93, ten volumes Svo. Lehman, Leipsic, 
1821-31, nine volumes Svo. Dindorf, Paris, text and Latin version. The 
best English version is that of Thomas Franklin, London, 1781, four vols. : 
but some of Lucian's pieces are omitted, as it was better they should be. 

3 Menippus was a celebrated philosopher, of the sect of Cynics, so called 
from kvuv, tunoc, a dog, from their perpetual snarling at all mankind. This 
is frequently alluded to throughout the works of Lucian. 



A. D. 160.] LUCIAN. 319 

Menippus. No : the shame should be yours : when upon 
earth, you expected to be worshipped ; you trod upon and 
insulted your fellow-creatures ; and never thought of death : 
weep now, therefore, and lament your condition, as you deserve. 

Croesus. O gods, my riches, my riches ! 

Midas. My gold, my gold ! 

Sardanapalus. My dainties, my dainties ! 

Menippus. Aye, aye : cry away ; whilst I sing the old 
adage to you, Know thyself, the best symphony for such 
lamentations. 



ZENOPHANTES AND CALLIDEMIDES. 

Cattidemides. Ah ! Zenophantes, how came you here ? T, 
you know, was suffocated by eating too much at Dineas' feast; 
you were there, I think, yourself, when I died. 

Zenophantes. I was so, Callidemides ; but my accident was 
a very extraordinary one : Do you know old Ptaodotus ? 

Gal. The rich old cuff, without children, whom you used to 
attend so constantly ? 

Zen. The same : I paid my court to him a long time, 
hoping he would soon tip off, and leave me all his money: but 
the affair being tediously protracted, and the old fellow threat- 
ening to live to the age of Tithonus, 1 I found out a shorter 
way to his estate, bought some poison, and prevailed on his 
cup-bearer, whenever he should call for drink, for he topes 
freely, to put some into his cup, and be ready to give it him : 
which, if he performed cleverly, I bound myself by oath to give 
him his liberty. 

Oal. Well, and what happened ? this is an extraordinary 
affair, indeed. 

Zen. Why, when we came in the room after bathing, and 
the young fellow had got the cups ready, one for Ptaodotus 
with the poison, and the other for me, how it happened I know 
not, but by some mistake, he gave me the poisoned cup, and 
him the other ; he drank up his, and I in a moment fell down 
dead before him : thus Zenophantes died instead of Ptaodotus. 

1 Son of Laomeclon, and brother to Priam, being a beautiful youth, Au- 
rora fell in love with him, and carried him off; at her request, Jupiter made 
him immortal ; but his mistress having forgot to ask for perpetual youth, as 
well as immortality, as he advanced in years he felt all the infirmities of old 
age, and was, consequently, miserable. Jupiter, at length, says the fable, 
took pity on him, and turned him into a grasshopper. 



320 LUCIAN. [a. d. 160. 

You smile, Callidernides : you should not laugh at a friend's 
misfortune. 

Cal. The catastrophe was so ridiculous, I cannot help it : 
and what said the old man ? 

Zen. At first he was shocked at the suddenness of the 
accident : but when he found out, I suppose, how the affair 
happened, he laughed himself at the design of his cup-bearer. 

Cal. You should not have gone this compendious way to 
work, seeing the money would have come safer to you in the 
common course, though you might have waited a little longer 
for it. 

MENIPPUS, MERCURY. 

Menippus. Where are your beautiful men and beautiful 
women, Mercury ? I am a stranger here, but just arrived, and 
therefore beg you would introduce me to them. 

Mercury. Menippus, I have not time for that at present : 
turn, however, to your right hand, and you will see Hyacin- 
thus, and Narcissus, and Nereus, and Achilles, and Tyro, and 
Helen, and Leda, and the rest of them, the admiration of former 
ages. 

Menippus. I see nothing but bones, and skulls without 
hair : they all look alike. 

Mercury. Those bones and skulls, which you seem to de- 
spise, were the very persons whom the poets so extol. 

Menippus. Show me Helen, I beseech you, for I cannot 
distinguish her. 

Mercury. Yonder bald-pate is she. 

Menippus. And were a thousand ships manned from every 
part of Greece, were so many Greeks and Barbarians slain, and 
so many cities destroyed for her? 

Mercury. You never saw her when she was alive : if you 
had, you would not have wondered, for, as Homer says : — 

No wonder such, celestial charms, 

For nine long years, should set the world in arms. 

When the flower is withered, and has lost its color, it becomes 
disgustful ; though, whilst it grew and flourished, it was uni- 
versally admired. 

Menippus. All I wonder at, Mercury, is, that the Grecians 
did not consider how ridiculous it was to give themselves so 
much trouble about an object of such a short-lived and decay- 
ing nature. 






A. D. 160.] LUCIAN. 321 

Mercury. I have no leisure time to philosophize with you, 
Menippus; so repose yourself wherever you please : I must go 
and fetch down some more mortals. 



CNEMON 1 AND DAMNIPPUS. 

Cnemon. This makes the old saying good, "The kid has 
slain the lion." 2 

Damnippus. What is it you are so angry about, Cnemon ? 

Cnemon. What am I angry for ? why, I have been over- 
reached, and left a man heir to my estate, whom I did not care 
for, instead of those who ought to have inherited it. 

Damnippus. How came that about ? 

Cnemon. I paid my court to Hermolaus, a rich fellow, who 
had no children, in hopes of his death : he was pleased with 
my flattery, and seemed to enjoy it ; in the mean time, I thought 
it most advisable to make my will public, wherein I left him all 
I had ; which I did, you may suppose, with a design that he 
should do the same by me. 

Damnippus. And did he ? 

Cnemon. What he had determined in his will, I am a 
stranger to : being myself suddenly snatched away by the fall 
of a house upon me : and now Hermolaus is in possession of 
all I was worth : like a shark, he has swallowed the bait, hook 
and all. 

Damnippus. Yes, and fisherman too, I think : you have 
spread a snare, and caught yourself. 

Cnemon. I have so : and it is that which makes me mise- 
rable. 

THE SALE OF THE PHILOSOPHERS. 3 

Jupiter. Prepare the seats there, and get the place ready 
for the company ; bring out the goods in order, but brush them 
up, first, that they may appear handsome, and invite customers 
to purchase them. You, Mercury, must be crier, and give 

1 Cnemon is here represented to be in the infernal regions, having just 
died, and talking with himself: Damnippus meets him, and asks the reason 
of his dejection. 

3 A Greek proverb, generally applied to any strange and unexpected event, 
contrary to the common course of things. 

3 In this humorous piece the founders of the different sects are put up for 
sale, as so many slaves in the market-place ; Hermes, or Mercury, being the 
auctioneer. 



322 lucian. [a. d. 160. 

notice to the buyers to assemble at the place of sale : we intend 
to sell philosophers of every sect and denomination whatsoever: 
if they cannot pay ready money for them, they may give se- 
curity, and we will trust them till next year. 

Mercury. A large crowd is already assembled : we must 
have no delay. 

Jupiter. Begin the sale, then. 

Mercury. Whom shall we put up first ? 

Jupiter. This Ionian, 1 with the long hair ; he seems to be 
a respectable personage. 

Mercury. You, Pythagoras, come down here, and show 
youiself to the company. 

Jupiter. Now cry him. 

Mercury. Here, gentlemen, T present you with the best and 
most venerable of the whole profession. AVho bids for him ? 
Which of you wishes to be more than man ? Which of you 
would be acquainted with the harmony of the universe, 2 and 
desire to live a second time in the world ? 

Bidder. The appearance of him is not amiss ; but what is 
his principal skill in ? 

Mercury. Arithmetic, astronomy, prognostics, geometry, 
music, enchantment : a tip-top prophet, I assure you. 

Bidder. May I ask him a few questions ? 

Mercury. Ask him, and welcome. 

Bidder. What countryman are you ? 

Pythagoras. A Samian. 

Bidder. Where were you educated ? 

Pythagoras. In Egypt, amongst the wise men there. 

Bidder. Well, and if I buy you, what will you teach me ? 

Pythagoras. I shall teach you nothing, but recall things to 
your memory. 

Bidder. How will you do that ? 

Pythagoras. By first purifying your soul, and washing away 
the unclean parts of it. 

Bidder. But suppose it is purified already, how are you to 
recall the memory: 

1 Pythagoras. 

2 Pythagoras asserted that the world was made according to musical pro- 
portion : and that the seven planets, betwixt heaven and the earth, which 
govern the nativities of mortals, have a harmonious motion and intervals 
correspondent to musical diatonics, rendering various sounds according to 
their several heights, so consonant as to make the sweetest melody, or what 
we call the harmony of the spheres. 



A. D. 160.] LUCIAN. 323 

Pythagoras. First by long repose, silence, and saying no- 
thing for five whole years. 1 

Bidder. This may be good instruction for the son of Croe- 
sus ; 2 but I want to talk, and not to be a statue. And, after 
this five years' silence, what is to be done next ? 

Pythagoras. You will be exercised in music and geometry. 

Bidder. An excellent method, indeed ; so we must be fid- 
dlers first before we can be wise men. 

Pythagoras. Then you must learn figures. 

Bidder. I can count already. 

Pythagoras. How do you count ? 

Bidder. One, two, three, four 

Pythagoras. There, now; you see : what you call four are 
ten, 3 the perfect triangle, and our great oath. 

Bidder. Now, by the great oath, the holy four, never did I 
hear such sacred and divine discourse. 

Pythagoras. After this, stranger, I will instruct thee con- 
cerning the earth, and the water, and the fire, what their action 
is, what their body, and how they are moved. 

Bidder. Have fire, air, and water, a shape, then ? 

Pythagoras. Most manifestly; for without form or body 
how could they be moved ? hence you will learn that God him- 
self is number and harmony. 

Bidder. Wonderful, indeed ! 

Pythagoras. Besides this, I shall convince you, that you 

1 The injunction of five years' silence, said to be laid down by Pythagoras 
on all his disciples, probably meant no more than a prohibition from attempt- 
ing to teach or instruct others, till they had spent that portion of time in 
fully acquainting themselves with every part of his doctrine : an injunction 
very proper in every age, and which would not be unserviceable in our own, 
by preventing many of our raw young divines from exposing themselves in 
the pulpit, before they have read their Greek Testament. 

3 This alludes to the following story: The son of Croesus, king of Lydia, 
who was born dumb, and had continued so to the age of maturity, attending 
his father to battle, saw a soldier, in the heat of the engagement, lifting up 
his sword over the head of Croesus. The apprehension of a father's imminent 
danger worked so powerfully on the mind of an affectionate child as on a 
sudden to loosen his tongue, which had been tied up for so many years, and 
he cried out immediately, "Soldier, do not kill Croesus." 

3 i. e. 1, 2, 3, 4, make up ten. The Pythagoreans, seeing they could not 
express incorporeal forms and first principles, had recourse to numbers. 
Four, or the tetrad, was esteemed the most perfect number, the primary and 
primogeneous, which they called the root of all things. They also make the 
"triangle," thus : — 



324 lucian. [a. d. 160. 

yourself, a seeming individual, appear to be one, and in reality 
are another. 

Bidder. How say you ? that I, who now converse with you, 
am not myself, but another ? 

Pythagoras. At present you are here, but formerly you 
appeared in another body, and under another name, and, here- 
after, you shall be changed into a different person. 

Bidder. Sayest thou that I shall be immortal, and put on 
different forms ? but enough of this. How are you with regard 
to diet ? 

Pythagoras. I eat no animal food ; but abstain from no- 
thing else, except beans. 

Bidder. And why do you hate beans ? 

Pythagoras. They are sacred, and their nature is marvel- 
lous : in the first place, they are all over genitals. Moreover, 
if you take a young bean, and strip the skin off, and leave it 
in the open air for a certain number of moonlight nights, it 
will turn to blood. And what is more, the Athenian law 1 
enjoins that their magistrates shall be chosen by a ballot of 
beans. 

Bidder. Wonderful is all thou hast said, and worthy of a 
sacred character. I must buy him by all means. What do 
you value him at? 

Mercury. Ten rninse. 2 

Bidder. I will give it : he is mine. 

Jupiter. Write down the buyer's name, and whence he 
comes. 

Mercury. He seems to be an Italian, and one of those who 
inhabit that part of Greece which lies round about Croton and 
Tarentum : the truth is, he is not bought by one, but by three 
or four hundred of them, who are to possess him in common. 

Jupiter. Well, let them take him away : bring out another. 

Mercury. Would you have that dirty fellow, from Pontus ? 

Jupiter. By all means. 

Mercury. Hark ye ! you round shoulders, with the satchel 
on your back, come this way, and walk round the bench. Here 

1 The most ancient way of determining matters in courts of justice was by 
black and white sea-shells ; they afterwards used pellets of brass, which were 
at length exchanged for black and white beans, a mode of balloting which 
we have ourselves adopted. Lucian, after mentioning other superstitious 
notions of the Pythagoreans with respect to beans, humorously introduces 
this, which he supposes might be just as good a reason for abstaining from 
beans as any of the rest. 

2 About one hundred and eighty dollars 






A. D. 160.] LUCTAN. 325 

is a character for you, gentlemen, manly, noble, free: who bids 
here ? 

Bidder. What is that you say, crier ? sell a freeman ! 

Mercury. Yes. 

Bidder. And are you not afraid he should summon you to 
the Areopagus for making him a slave ? 

Mercury. He never minds being sold ; for he thinks himself 
free in every place. 

Bidder. But what use can I make of such a dirty, ill-looking 
fellow ! unless I wanted a digger, or a water-carrier ? 

Mercury. 0, he is fitter for a porter at your door ; you will 
find him faithful as a dog ;* a dog, indeed, he is called. 

Bidder. What sort of a fellow is he ; and what does he 
profess himself? 

Mercury. Ask him, that is the best way. 

Bidder. I am afraid, by his fierce surly countenance, that 
he will bark at me when I come near him, or perhaps bite: 
do you not see how he takes up his staff, knits his brow, and 
looks angry and threatening ? 

Mercury. Do not be afraid of him, he is quite tame. 

Bidder. In the first place, then, good man, of what country 
are you ? 

Diogenes. Of all countries. 

Bidder. How is that ? 

Diogenes. I am a citizen of the world. 

Bidder. Whom are you a follower of? 

Diogenes. Hercules. 

Bidder. I see you resemble him by the club ; have you got 
the lion's skin too ? 

Diogenes. My lion's skin is this old cloak : I wage war, 
like him, against pleasures, not, indeed, by command, 3 but of 
my own free will, appointed to reform the world. 

Bidder. A noble design : but what is your art, and in what 
does your principal knowledge consist ? 

Diogenes. I am the deliverer of mankind, the physician of 
the passions, the prophet of universal truth and liberty. 

Bidder. Well, Mr. Prophet, if I buy you, in what manner 
will you instruct me ? 

Diogenes. I shall take you first, strip you of all your finery, 

Lucian's account of the Cynic philosophers is excellent; their name is 
from the Greek wa>v, "a. clog." 

The labors of Hercules were all performed by command of Eurystheus, at 
the instigation of Juno. 

28 



326 lucian. [a. d. 160. 

put on yon an old cloak, keep you poor, make you work hard, 
lie upon the ground, drink water, and take what food you can 
get : if you have any riches, at my command you must throw 
them into the sea : wife, children, and country you must take 
no notice of, deeming them all trifles : you must leave your 
father's house, and live in a sepulchre, some deserted tower, 
or a tub. Your scrip, however, shall be full of lupines, and 
parchments, scrawled over on the outside. 1 In this condition 
you shall say you are happier than the great king. 2 If any 
body beats or torments you, you shall think it no hardship, nor 
complain of it. 

Bidder. How! not complain when I am beaten! I have 
not the shell of a crab or a tortoise. 

Diogenes. You shall say, with a very little alteration, what 
Euripides did. 

Bidder. What's that ? 

Diogenes. My mind is hurt, but my tongue shall not com- 
plain. But now, mind how you are to behave : you must be 
bold, saucy, and abusive to every body, kings and beggars 
alike ; this is the way to make them look upon you, and think 
you a great man. Your voice should be barbarous, and your 
speech dissonant, as like a dog as possible ; your countenance 
rigid and inflexible, and your gait and demeanor suitable to it: 
everything you say savage and uncouth : modesty, equity, and 
moderation you must have nothing to do with : never suffer a 
blush to come upon your cheek : seek the most public and fre- 
quented place, but when you are there desire to be alone, and 
permit neither friend nor stranger to associate with you ; for 
these things are the ruin and destruction of power and empire. 

Bidder. Away with thee : thy tenets are filthy, and abhor- 
rent to humanity. 

Diogenes. But hark ye, friend, after all, mine is the easiest 
way, and you may go it without any trouble : it is a short cut 
to glory ; you will want no education, learning, or trifles of that 
sort: be you ever so ignorant, a cobbler, a sausage-monger, a 
blacksmith, or a sutler, you will not be a whit the less admired, 
provided you have but impudence enough, and a good knack 
at abuse. 

Bidder. I want you not for such things : you may serve, 
however, by and by, for a sailor, or a gardener, if he will sell 
you for two oboli. 3 

1 People of fashion never wrote but on the inside of the parchment, though 
the poorer sort made use of the outside also. 

2 The king of Persia. - An obulus was about three cents. 



A. D. 160.] LUCIAN. 327 

Mercury. Aye, aye, take him ; for he is so troublesome, 
makes such a noise, and is so abusive and insolent to every 
body, that we shall be glad to get rid of him. 

Jupiter. Come, let us have no delays; call out another. 

Mercury. Come forth, you Peripatetic 1 there, the beautiful, 
the rich: now, gentlemen, who buys my wisest of all philoso- 
phers, skilled in every science ? 

Bidder. What is he famous for ? 

Mercury. Temperance, justice, knowledge of life, and, 
above all, for his double character. 

Bidder. What do you mean ? 

Mercury. He appears one thing without, and another 
within ; remember, therefore, before you purchase him, some 
call him-esoteric, and some exoteric. 

Bidder. What are his principal tenets ? 

Mercury. That the summum bonum* consists in three things, 
in the soul, in the body, and in externals. 

Bidder. He seems to have great knowledge of mankind. 
What do you ask for him ? 

Mercury. Twenty minoe. 

Bidder. A great price ! 

Mercury. By no means, friend ; for he seems to have some- 
thing rich about him, so that you would be no loser by the 
purchase : besides, he can tell you how long a flea lives, to 
what depth the sea is lighted by the sun, and what sort of soul 
oysters have. 

Bidder. Hercules ! what a curious discussion ! 

Mercury. Now, whom have we left ? O, this sceptic ; you 
Pyrrhia 3 there, stand forth, that you may be sold immediately : 
numbers are going away, I see, and the sale must be amongst 
a very few. Now, gentlemen, who buys him ? 

Bidder. I will : but first tell me, you, what do you know? 

Philosopher. Nothing. 

Bidder. What do you mean ? 

Philosopher. That nothing appears to me to be certain. 

Bidder. And are we nothing ourselves ? 

Philosopher. That I am not certain of. 

Bidder. And do you know yourself to be nothing ? 

1 Aristotle. 

2 Aristotle held that the summum honum, or greatest possible beatitude, 
consisted in the function of perfect life, according to virtue j and the use of 
virtue, according to nature, without any impediment. 

3 Meaning Pyrrho, the famous sceptic ; as he is putting up to sale, he calls 
him Pyrrhia, the name of a slave. 



328 lucian. [a. d. 160. 

Philosopher. That I am still more in doubt about. 

Bidder. Strange perplexity ! but what are those scales for ? 

Philosopher. In them I weigh the reasons on each side, and 
when I find the balance equal on both, conclude that I know 
nothing. 

Bidder. And can you do anything else well ? 

Philosopher. Everything, but overtake a fugitive. 

Bidder. And why not that ? 

Philosopher. Because, friend, I cannot apprehend 1 him. 

Bidder. I believe you, for you seem very lazy, and very 
ignorant : but what is the sum of all your knowledge ? 

Philosopher. To learn nothing, to hear nothing, and to see 
nothing. 

Bidder. And so, you say, you are deaf and blind. 

Philosopher. Aye, and, moreover, without sense or judg- 
ment, and in nothing differing from a mere worm. 

Bidder. With all these good qualities, I shall certainly 
buy you : what do you think him worth ? 

Mercury. An Attic mina. 

Bidder. There it is : what say you, friend, have I bought 
you? 3 

Philosopher. That remains a doubt. 

Bidder. By no means, for I have bought and paid for you. 

Philosopher. That I must consider on, and call in question. 

Bidder. Follow me, however, as a servant ought. 

Philosopher. Who knows whether you speak truth or not ? 

Bidder. The crier there, my money, and every body here 
present. 

Philosopher. And are there any present ? 

Bidder. I shall throw you into the mill, 3 and convince you 
that I am your master, by chirology. 

Philosopher. Of that I beg leave to doubt. 

Bidder. By heaven, but I have determined it already. 

Mercury. Cease contradicting, and follow your master. I 
invite you all here, gentlemen, to-morrow, when I shall sell you 
some common people, lawyers, mechanics, and so forth. 

1 Our word " apprehend" has happily a double sense, like the Greek 
x.*TcLAAy.{2iva>, either '-'to overtake," "to seize upon," or "to understand." 
In Philippians iii. 12, it is used in the former sense. 

2 The sceptic's doubting, after all, -whether he was bought or not, and 
whether any body was present, are fine strokes of true humor. The whole 
satire on the absurdity of universal scepticism, is, indeed, inimitable. 

3 This was a common punishment, both amongst the Greeks and Romans. 
Terence always sends his slaves ad pistrimim. 






A. D. 1G0.] LUCTAN. 329 



TRUE WEALTH. 



The wealth of the soul is the only true wealth : the rest of 
things have more of pain than pleasure. 



METRICAL VERSION. 



The mind's wealth only is the wealth not vain ; 
All else brings less of pleasure than of pain. 



THE BEARD. 1 

If you suppose that the nourishing a beard gives a claim to 
wisdom, then a well-bearded goat is a skilful Plato. 

If heards long and bushy true wisdom denote, 
Then Plato must bow to a hairy he-goat. 



LIFE. 

To the prosperous the whole of life is short ; but to the 
unfortunate, one night is an endless time. 

Short to the happy life's whole span appears ; 
But to the wretch one night is endless years. 



AGE APING YOUTH. 

You dye your head ; but you will not dye your old age, nor 
will you stretch out the wrinkles of your cheeks. Do not then 
plaster the whole of your face with paint, so that you have a 
mask and not a face. For it is of no use. Why are you mad? 
A paint and wash will never make Hecuba a Helen. 

You give your cheeks a rosy stain, 

"With washes dye your hair ; 
But paint and washes both are vain 

To give a youthful air. 

1 How many men now-a-clays try to make goats of themselves : — 

"How many cowards, whose hearts are all as false 
As stairs of sand, wear yet upon their chins 
The beards of Hercules and frowning Mars ; 
Who, inward search'd, have livers white as milk." 

Merchant of Venice, Act iii. Scene ii. 

28* 



330 LUCIAN. [A. d. 160. 

Those wrinkles mock your daily toil, 

No labor will efface 'em ; 
You wear a mask of smoothest oil, 

Yet still with ease we trace 'em. 

An art so fruitless then forsake, 
Which though you much excel in, 

You never can contrive to make 
Old Hecuba young Helen. 



THE PHYSICIAN'S BUSINESS. 

A certain physician sent his own son to me to learn from me 
grammar; and when he knew, "Sing the wrath of Achilles," 
and, "He caused ten thousand griefs," and the third line fol- 
lowing these, "And he sent untimely many brave souls to 
Hades," no longer does he send him to me to learn. But the 
father on seeing me, said — "Thanks to you, my friend; but 
my child can learn these things at my house. For I send 
many souls untimely to Hades ; and for this I want no gram- 
marian." 



A doctor, fond of letters, once agreed 
Beneath my care his son should learn to read. 
The lad soon knew " Achilles' wrath" to sing, 
And said by heart, "To Greece the direful spring." 
" 'T is quite enough, my dear," the parent said ; 
" For too much learning might confuse your head. 
That wrath which hurls to Pluto's gloomy reign, 
Go, tell your tutor, I can best explain." 



THE TRULY RICH. 

The riches of the mind alone are true ; 

All other wealth only more trouble brings. 
To him the title of a rich man's due, 

Who's able to make use of his good things. 
But whoso's mind on calculations dwells, 

Intent on heaping money upon money, 
He, like the bee, adds to the hive new cells, 

Out of which others will extract the honey. 



A. D. 230.] JELIAN. 331 



JELIAN. 

FLOURISHED ABOUT A. D. 230. 

Claudius JElianus, the historian, though a native of Prseneste, in 
Italy, wrote and spoke the Greek language with so much elegance, that 
he obtained the surname of Me\i$8oyyos, Meliphthoggos, "honey-voiced." 
He taught rhetoric at Rome, and hence is sometimes ranked among 
the Sophists ; but he is most known for his nomiM 'lo-ro^a, or " Various 
History." It contains short narrations, and anecdotes, historical, bio- 
graphical, antiquarian, &c, selected from various authors, whose 
names, however, are not given. Its chief value arises from its con- 
taining many passages from works of older authors, now lost. He 
also wrote a History of Animals, in seventeen books, commonly called 
his De Animal ium Natura. In both these works he takes an elevated 
stand, inculcating the best moral and religious principles. 1 



THE EGYPTIAN DOG. 

This also iu wise in the Egyptian dogs : they drink of the 
river not greedily or freely, stooping and lapping till they have 
at the same time satisfied their thirst, for they are afraid of the 
creatures in it ; but run along the bank, and catch up drink 
by stealth at times, till at last they have allayed their thirst by 
snatches without receiving harm. 3 



PIETY OP AENEAS. 

When Troy was taken, the Grecians (as it becomes Greeks) 
commiserating the condition of the captives, made proclama- 
tion by a herald, that every free citizen might carry away with 
him any one thing he pleased. Hereupon iEneas, neglecting 

1 Editions: Of the "Various History," Gronovius, Leyden, Greek and 
Latin, Amsterdam, 1731, two volumes; Kuhn, Leipsic, 1780, two volumes. 
Of Animals, J. G. Schneider, Leipsic, 1784, two volumes ; F. Jacobs, Jena, 
1832, two volumes. Translation : T. Stanley, London, 1665, 8vo. 

3 Or, in Swift's version : — 

Then, like the dogs of Nile, be wise, 

Who, taught by instinct how to shun 
The crocodile that lurking lies, 

Run as they drink, and drink and run. 



332 iELiAN. [a. d. 230. 

all other things, carried out his household gods. The Grecians, 
pleased with the piety of the man, gave him leave to take 
something else. He then took up his father of a very great 
age upon his shoulders, and bore him away. They not a little 
astonished hereat, gave him back all that was his ; confessing 
that to such men as were pious towards the gods, and honored 
their parents, even those who were by nature their enemies 
become merciful. 



SOCRATES AND ALCTBIADES. 

Socrates, perceiving Alcibiades to be exceeding proud of his 
riches and lands, showed him a map of the world, and bid him 
find Attica therein ; which done, he desired that he would show 
him his own lands. He answered, " They were not there." 
" Do you boast," replies Socrates, " of that which you see is no 
perceivable part of the earth?" 



HUMILITY OF PLATO. 

Plato, son of Aristo, at the Olympic games fell into company 
with some strangers who knew him not, but upon whose affections 
he gained much by his affable conversation ; dining and spend- 
ing the whole day with them, not mentioning either the Academy 
or Socrates, only saying his name was Plato. When they came 
to Athens, he entertained thein courteously. " Come, Plato," 
said the strangers, "show us your namesake, the disciple of 
Socrates ; bring us to the Academy, introduce us to him, that 
we may know him." He, smiling a little, as he was accustomed, 
said, "I am the man:" whereat they were much amazed, having 
conversed so familiarly with a person of that note, without 
knowing him; for he used no boasting or ostentation. Whence 
it appears, that besides his philosophical discourse, his ordinary 
conversation was extremely winning. 



EQUANIMITY OF SOCRATES. 

Xantippe used to say, that when the state was oppressed 
with a thousand miseries, yet Socrates always went abroad and 
came home with the same look. For he bore a mind smooth 
and cheerful upon all occasions, far remote from grief, and 
above all fear. 



A. D. 213-213.] LONGINUS. 333 



LONGINUS. 
a. d. 213—273. 

Dionysius Cassius Longinus, the most distinguished Greek philoso- 
pher of later times, was born about A. D. 213, and probably at Athens. 
A wealthy uncle took especial care of his education, and was well re- 
paid for his liberality in the rapid advances made by his nephew in 
every department of literature. In his study of philosophy he went 
to the fountain-head itself, acquainting himself thoroughly with the 
works of Plato. After travelling to Tarsus, Alexandria, and other 
places where he thought he could add to his stores of knowledge, 
he returned to Athens, and there opened a school for instruction 
in philosophy, and also gave public lectures on philosophy, rhetoric, 
criticism, and grammar. While devoting himself with great zeal to 
the instruction of his numerous pupils, he was invited, with very 
princely offers, by Zenobia, the learned, accomplished, and beautiful 
Queen of Palmyra, to go thither, and superintend the education 
of her sons. He accepted the invitation ; and so charmed was the 
queen with his wisdom and learning that she made him her prime 
minister and chief adviser. Among other things, he advised and en- 
couraged her to shake off the Roman yoke, and assert her right to the 
title of Queen of the East. This, of course, brought down upon her Mie 
wrath of the Emperor Aurelian, who marched against her with a large 
army, defeated her forces first near Antioch, again at Emesa, and pur- 
sued her to her capital, Palmyra. Here she fortified herself in every 
way, determined to stand a siege. Aurelian sent her a haughty letter, 
demanding her to surrender. To this she sent the following reply, 
dictated by Longinus : — 



ZENOBIA, QUEEN OF THE EAST, TO THE EMPEROR AURELIAN. 

"Never was such an unreasonable demand proposed, or such 
rigorous terras offered by any but yourself. Remember, Aure- 
lian, that in war, whatever is done should be done by valor. 
You imperiously command me to surrender ; but can you for- 
get that Cleopatra chose rather to die with the title of queen, 
than to live in any inferior dignity ? We expect succors from 
Persia ; the Saracens are arming in our cause ; even the Syrian 



334 longinus. [a. d. 213-213. 

banditti have already defeated your array. Judge what you 
are to expect from a conjunction of these forces. You shall be 
compelled to abate that pride, with which, as if you were abso- 
lute lord of the universe, you command me to become your 
captive." 

On the receipt of this, Aurelian redoubled his efforts, and finally 
succeeded in taking the city. Zenobia and Longinus, mounted on 
camels, endeavored to escape into Persia ; but they were pursued by a 
detachment of the swiftest horse, overtaken, and brought back. And 
here we must record the unworthy conduct of Zenobia, who charged 
all her resistance to Aurelian upon Longinus, who was thereupon 
immediately ordered away to execution by the emperor. He did not 
reproach Zenobia ; but, while comforting his friends, said that he pitied 
her. He declared that he looked upon death as a blessing, since it 
rescued his body from slavery, and gave his soul the most desirable 
freedom. " This world," said he, with his expiring breath, " is nothing 
but a prison ; happy, therefore, is he who gets soonest out of it, and 
gains his liberty." 

The writings of Longinus were very numerous, some on philoso- 
phical, but most on critical subjects. The titles of twenty-five different 
treatises have been collected ; but none of all these, except his treatise 
on the Sublime (ris^i v^ov;), have come down to us, and even this is 
not perfect. l Yet on this little, this imperfect piece his fame is founded ; 
but founded as on a rock of adamant, for all writers of all ages have 
been emulous in its praise. " It is one of those valuable remnants of 
antiquity of which enough remains to engage our admiration, and 
excite an earnest regret for every particle of it that has perished. It 
resembles those mutilated statues which are sometimes dug out of 
mines : limbs are broken off, which it is not in the power of any 
living artist to replace, because the fine proportion and delicate finish- 
ing of the trunk exclude all hope of equalling such masterly per- 
formances." 2 

1 Editions : Z. Pearce, London, 1724, 4to., and often reprinted in octavo, 
Greek and Latin ; Weiske, Leipsic, 1809, reprinted, London, 1820 ; F. N. 
Morris, Greek and Latin, Leipsic, 1769, 8vo., valued for its superior Latin 
version. Translation : William Smith, London. My edition is 1739 ; but it 
has been reprinted many times. 

9 Life of Longinus, j)renxed to his treatise on the Sublime, by Win. Smith. 



A. d. 213-273.] longinus. 335 



SOURCE OF SUBLIME EXPRESSIONS. 

Grand and sublime expressions must flow from them, and 
them alone, whose conceptions are stored and big with great- 
ness. And hence it is, that the greatest thoughts are always 
uttered by the greatest souls. When Parmenio cried, "I would 
accept these proposals if I was Alexander," Alexander made 
this noble reply, "And so would I, if I was Parmenio." His 
answer showed the greatness of his mind. 

So with what majesty and pomp does Homer exalt his 
deities ! 

Far as a shepherd, from some point on high 
O'er the wide main extends his boundless eye, 
Thro' such a space of air with thund'ring sound, 
At one long leap th' immortal coursers bound. 

Pope. 

He measures the leap of the horses by the extent of the 
world. And who is there, that considering the superlative 
magnificence of this thought, would not with good reason cry 
out, that if the steeds of the Deity were to take a second leap, 
the world itself would want room for it. 

How grand also and pompous are those descriptions of the 
combat of the gods ! 

Heav'n in loud thunders bids the trumpet sound, 
And wide beneath them groans the rending ground. 
Deep in the dismal regions of the dead, 
Th' infernal monarch rear'd his horrid head ; 
Leap'd from his throne, lest Neptune's arm should lay 
His dark dominions open to the day, 
And pour in light on Pluto's drear abodes 
Abhorr'd by men, and dreadful e'en to gods. 

Pope. 

What a prospect is here, my friend ! The earth laid open 
to its centre, Tartarus itself disclosed to view, the whole world 
in commotion and tottering on its basis ! and what is more, 
heaven and hell, things mortal and immortal, all combating 
together, and sharing the danger of this important battle. But 
yet, these bold representations, if not allegorically understood, 
are downright blasphemy, and extravagantly shocking. For 
Homer, in my opinion, when he gives us a detail of the wounds, 
the seditions, the punishments, imprisonments, tears of the 
deities, with those evils of every kind under which they Ian- 



336 longinus. [a. d. 213-213. 

guish, has to the utmost of his power exalted his heroes, who 
fought at Troy, into gods, and degraded his gods into men. 
Nay, he makes their condition worse than human ; for when 
man is overwhelmed in misfortunes, death affords a comfortable 
port, and rescues him from misery. But he represents the in- 
felicity of the gods as everlasting as their nature. 

And how far does he excel those descriptions of the combats 
of the gods, when he sets a deity in his true light, and paints 
him in all his majesty, grandeur, and perfection, as in that de- 
scription of Neptune, which has been already applauded by 
several writers : — 

Fierce as he past the lofty mountains nod, "| 

The forests shake, earth trembled as he trod, I 
And left the footsteps of th' immortal Grod. J 

His whirling wheels the glassy surface sweep ; 
Th' enormous monsters, rolling o'er the deep, 
Gambol around him on the wat'ry way, 
And heavy whales in awkward measures play : 
The sea subsiding spreads a level plain, 
Exults, and owns the monarch of the main ; 
The parting waves before his coursers fly ; 
The wond'ring waters leave the axle dry. 

Pojjc. 

So likewise the Jewish legislator, no ordinary person, having 
conceived a just idea of the power of God, has nobly expressed 
it in the beginning of his law : " And God said — What ? — 
Let there be light, and there was light. Let the earth be, 
and the earth was." 



WHAT CIRCUMSTANCES PRODUCE THE SUBLIME. 

As there are no subjects which are not attended by some 
adherent circumstances, an accurate and judicious choice of the 
most suitable of these circumstances, and an ingenious and 
skilful connection of them into one body, must necessarily pro- 
duce the sublime. For what by the judicious choice, and what 
by the skilful connection, they cannot but very much affect the 
imagination. 

Sappho is an instance of this, who, having observed the 
anxieties and tortures inseparable to jealous love, has collected 
and displayed them all with the most lively exactness. But in 
what particular has she shown her excellence ? In selecting 



A. D. 213-2*73.] LONGINUS. 33? 

those circumstances which suit best with her subject, and after- 
wards connecting them together with so much art : — 

Blest as the gods, methinks, is he, 
Th' enamored youth that sits by thee, 
Hearing thy silver tones the while, 
Warmed by thy love-exciting smile. 

While gazing on thee, fair and blest, 
What transports heav'd my glowing breast ! 
My faltering accents soon grew weak, 
My quivering lips refused to speak. 

My voice was lost — the subtle flame 
Of love pervaded all my frame ; 
O'er my film'd eyes a darkness hung, 
"My ears with hollow murmurs rung." 

Cold moisture every pore distill'd, 
My frame a sudden tremor chill'd, 
My color went — I felt decay, 
I sunk — and fell — and swoon'd away. 

Are you not amazed, my friend, to find how in the same 
moment she is at a loss for her soul, her body, her ears, her 
tongue, her eyes, her color, all of them as much absent from 
her as if they had never belonged to her ? And what contrary 
effects does she feel together ? She glows, she chills, she raves, 
she reasons, now she is in tumults, and now she is dying away. 
In a word, she seems not to be attacked by one alone, but by 
a combination of the most violent passions. 



CICERO AND DEMOSTHENES. 

Cicero and Demosthenes (if we Grecians may be admitted 
to speak our opinions) differ in the sublime. The one is at 
the same time grand and concise, the other grand and diffusive. 
Our Demosthenes uttering every sentence with such force, pre- 
cipitation, strength, and vehemence, that it seems to be all fire, 
and bears down everything before it, may justly be resembled 
to a thunderbolt or a hurricane. But Cicero, like a wide con- 
flagration, devours and spreads on all sides ; his flames are 
numerous, and their heat is lasting ; they break out at different 
times in different quarters, and are nourished up to a raging 
violence by successive additions of proper fuel. I must not, 
however, pretend to judge in this case so well as you. But 
29 



338 longinus. [a. d. 213-2*13. 

the true season of applying so forcible and intense a sublime 
as that of Demosthenes is, in the strong efforts of discourse, in 
vehement attacks upon the passions, and whenever the audi- 
ence are to be struck at once, and thrown into consternation. 
And recourse must be had to such diffusive eloquence as that 
of Cicero, when they are to be soothed and brought over by 
gentle and soft insinuation. 



PLATO'S SUBLIMITY. 

Though Plato's style particularly excels in smoothness and an 
easy and peaceable flow of the words, yet neither does it want 
an elevation and grandeur ; and of this you cannot be igno- 
rant, as you have read the following passage in his Republic: 
"Those wretches" (says he), "who never have experienced 
the sweets of wisdom and virtue, but spend all their time in 
revels and debauches, sink downwards day after day, and make 
their whole life one continued series of errors. They never 
have the courage to lift the eye upwards towards truth, they 
never felt the least inclination to it. They taste no real or 
substantial pleasure, but, resembling so many brutes, with eyes 
always fixed on the earth, and intent upon their laden tables, 
they pamper themselves up in luxury and excess. So that, 
hurried on by their voracious and insatiable appetites, they are 
continually running and kicking at one another with hoofs and 
horns of steel, and are imbrued in perpetual slaughter." 

This excellent writer, if we can but resolve to follow his 
guidance, opens here before us another path, besides those 
already mentioned, which will carry to the true sublime. And 
what is this path ? Why, an imitation and emulation of the 
greatest orators and poets that ever flourished. And let this, 
my friend, be our ambition ; be this the fixed and lasting scope 
of all our labors. 



HOW SLAVERY DWARFS THE INTELLECT. 

We may see all other qualifications displayed to perfection 
in the minds of slaves ; but never yet did a slave become an 
orator. His spirit being effectually broken, the timorous vassal 
will still be uppermost ; the habit of subjection continually 
overawes and beats down his genius. For, according to 
Homer : — 









A. d. 213-273.] longinus. 339 

Jove fix'd it certain, that whatever day 

Makes man a slave, takes half his worth away. 

Pope. 

Thus I have heard (if what I have heard in this case may 
deserve credit), that the cases in which dwarfs are kept, not 
only prevent the future growth of those who are inclosed in 
them, but diminish what bulk they already have, by too close 
constriction of their parts. So slavery, be it never so easy, yet 
is slavery still, and may deservedly be called the prison of the 
soul, and the public dungeon. 



LUXURY AND AVARICE FOES TO GENIUS AND LEARNING. 

Complaints against the present times are generally heard, 
and easily made. But are you sure that this corruption of 
genius is not owing to the profound peace which reigns through- 
out the world ? Or rather, does it not flow from the war within 
us, and the sad effects of our own turbulent passions ? Those 
passions plunge us into the worst of slaveries, and tyrannically 
drag us wherever they please. Avarice (that disease of which 
the whole world is sick beyond a cure), aided by voluptuous- 
ness, holds us fast in chains of thraldom, or rather, if I may so 
express it, overwhelms life itself, as well as all that live in the 
depths of misery. For love of money is the disease which 
renders us most abject, and love of pleasure is that which ren- 
ders us most corrupt. I have indeed thought much upon it, 
but after all judge it impossible for the pursuers, or, to speak 
more truly, the adorers and worshippers of immense riches to 
preserve their souls from the infection of those vices which arc 
firmly allied to them. For profuseness will be wherever there 
is affluence. They are firmly linked together, and constant 
attendants upon one another. Wealth unbars the gates of 
cities, and opens the doors of houses ; profuseness gets in at the 
same time, and there they jointly fix their residence. After 
some continuance in their new establishment, they build their 
nests (in the language of philosophy), and propagate their 
species. There they hatch arrogance, pride, and luxury, no 
spurious brood, but their genuine offspring. If these children 
of wealth be fostered and suffered to reach maturity, they 
quickly engender the most inexorable tyrants, and make the 
soul groan under the oppressions of insolence, injustice, and 
the most seared and hardened impudence. When men are thus 
fallen, what I have mentioned must needs result from their 



340 longinus. [a. d. 213-2T3. 

depravity. They can no longer endure a sight of anything 
above their grovelling selves ; and as for reputation, they re- 
gard it not. When once such corruption infects an age, it 
gradually spreads and becomes universal. The faculties of the 
soul will then grow stupid, their spirit will be lost, and good 
sense and genius must lie in ruins, when the care and study of 
man is engaged about the mortal, the worthless part of himself, 
and he has ceased to cultivate virtue, and polish his nobler 
part — the soul. 



COMPENDIUM 



CLASSICAL LITERATURE 



PART SECOND. 
THE LITERATURE OF ROME. 



29* 



PART SECOND. 
THE LITERATURE OF ROME. 



PLAUTUS. 
254—184 b. c. 



"The comic muse laments her Plautus dead ; 
Deserted theatres show genius fled : 
Mirth, sport, and wit, and poetry bemoan, 
And echoing myriads join their plaintive tone." 

The most celebrated comic poet of Rome, T. Maccius Plautus, ' was 
born in Sarsina, a small village of Umbria, about 254 B. C. Though, 
his immediate origin was a servile one, his native genius predomi- 
nated over it, and he soon realized a considerable fortune by the 
popularity of his plays ; but by risking it in trade, or by spending it, 
according to others, on the splendid dresses which he wore as an actor, 
he was reduced to the necessity of resorting to manual labor for his 
daily bread. He commenced his literary career about 224 B. C, when 
thirty years of age, and after continuing it forty years, died at the 
advanced age of seventy. Of the particulars of his life scarcely any- 
thing is recorded. 

What number of plays Plautus wrote it is impossible now to say. 
In the time of Varro (B. C. 50) there were one hundred and thirty 
which bore his name, but a large portion of them was considered by 
the best Roman critics not to be the genuine productions of the poet. 
At present we possess but twenty of his comedies, 2 and many of these 

1 He was the son of a freedman ; and was called Plautus, from his broad, 
flat feet, a defect not uncommon among the Umbrians. 

2 Amongst these may be enumerated the Amphitryon, taken from a play 
of Epicharmus, and imitated by Lodovico Dolce, Moliere, and Dryden ; the 
Menaechmi, borrowed, it is supposed, from some lost play of Menander or 
Epicharmus, and known on the English stage as the origin of Shakspeare's 
Comedy of Errors ; the Aulularia, or little pot of money, supposed likewise 
to have been borrowed from the Greek, and freely drawn on by Moliere, 
Fielding, and Groldoni, in their respective comedies of L'Avare, Miser, and 
Vero Amico ; the Casina, translated from Diphilus, a Greek writer of the 
new comedy and a contemporary of Menander, and imitated by Machiavelli 



3U plautus. [b. c. 254-184. 

are much mutilated. They are now but little read, as it is impossible 
for us to enjoy their wit as the Romans did. Tragedy is founded on 
the great and controlling passions of our nature, and hence is universal 
in its interest ; but the success of comedy is due mainly to its vivid 
descriptions of the peculiar faults and follies and fashions of a parti- 
cular people, and hence is more local. Plautus, therefore, enjoyed 
unrivalled popularity among his countrymen ; and not only was he a 
favorite with the common people, but educated Romans read and ad- 
admired his works down to the latest times. The purity of his lan- 
guage and the refinement and good humor of his wit are particularly 
celebrated by the ancient critics. 

Plautus is very much indebted both for his plots and sentiments to 
the Greek comic poets : but notwithstanding their Grecian garb, there 
is a Roman freshness about his plays that gives them the stamp of 
originality, while they are highly valuable as illustrative of the pri- 
vate and public life of the Roman people. 



THE CAPTIVES. 1 

Scene II. 

Enter Hegio and a Slave. 

Heg. Mind what I say : — from those two captives there, 
Whom yesterday I purchased from the Quaestors, 

in his Clitia, and Beaumarchais in his Marriage de Figaro. — Plautus. writing 
for his Dread, and consulting rather the humors of the many, than the tastes 
of the few, has frequently exposed himself to the lash of censure ; yet, with 
all his irregularities and defects, he is absolutely pure as compared with 
Beaumont and Fletcher, Massinger, Dryden, Wycherly, and other of our 
dramatic writers in the days of the Stuarts. — Wm. Peter. 

1 The subject and plot of the Captivi are of a different description from 
those of Plautus' other comedies. No female characters are introduced ; and 
yet it is the most tender and amiable of Plautus' plays, and may be regarded 
as of a higher description than his other comedies, since it hinges on paternal 
affection and the fidelity of friendship. Many of the situations are highly 
touching, and exhibit actions of generous magnanimity, free from any mix- 
ture of burlesque. 

Hegio, an JEtolian gentleman, had two sons, one of whom, when only four 
years old, was carried off by a slave, and sold by him in Elis. A war having 
subsequently broken out between the Elians and iEtolians, Hegio's other son 
was taken captive by the Elians. The father, with a view of afterwards ran- 
soming his son by an exchange, purchased an Elian prisoner, called Philo- 
crates, along with his servant Tyndarus ; and the play opens with the master, 
Philocrates, personating his slave, while the slave, Tyndarus, assumes the 
character of his master. By this means Tyndarus remains a prisoner under 
his master's name, while Hegio is persuaded to send the true Philocrates, 
under the name of Tyndarus, to Elis, in order to effect the exchange of his 
son. The deception, however, is discovered by Hegio before the return of 






b. c. 254-184.] plautus. 345 

Take off the heavy chains with which they're bound, 

And put on lighter : let them walk about 

Within doors, or abroad, as likes them best : 

Yet watch them well. — A free man, made a captive, 

Is like a bird that's wild : it is enough, 

If once you give it opportunity 

To fly away ; — you'll never catch it after. 

Slave. Freedom to slavery we all prefer. 

Ileg. You do not think so, or you'd find the means. 

Slave. If I have naught to offer else, permit me 
To give you for it a fair pair of heels. 

Heg. And if you do, I presently shall find 
What to bestow on you. 

Slave. I'm like the bird 

You talk'd of even now. — I'll fly away. 

Heg. Indeed! Beware the cage, then, if you do. 
No more; mind what I order'd, and begone. 

I'll now unto my brother's, 

Visit my other captives there, and see 

If aught has been amiss last night among them ; 

Thence will I take me home again forthwith. 

Erg. It grieves me much, that this unhappy man 
Should act so meanly as to trade in slaves, 
On the account of his unhappy son ; 
But, if by this, or any means like this, 
He can redeem him, let him deal in men's flesh, 
I can endur e it. 

Heg. Who is it that speaks there ? 

Erg. 'Tis I, sir — I, that pine at your distress, 
Grow thin with it, wax old, and waste away ; 
Nay, I'm so lean withal, that I am nothing 
But skin and bone ; — whate'er I eat at home 
Does me no good ; but be it e'er so little 
I taste abroad, that relishes, that cheers me. 

Heg. Ergasilus ! — Good day. 

Erg. (crying.) Heav'ns bless you, Hegio ! 

Heg. Nay, do not weep. 

Erg. Must I not weep for him ? 

For such a youth not weep ? 

Heg. My son and you, 

I know, were ever friends. 

Erg. 'Tis then at length 

Men come to know their good, when they have lost it ; 
I, since the foe has made your son a captive, 
Find his true value, and now feel his want. 

Philocrates ; and the father, fearing that he had thus lost all hope of ran- 
soming his child, condemns Tyndarus to labor in the mines. In these cir- 
cumstances, Philocrates returns from Elis with Hegio's son, and also brings 
along with him the fugitive slave, who had stolen his other son in infancy. 
It is then discovered that Tyndarus is this child, who, having been sold to 
the father of Philocrates, was appointed by him to wait on his son, and had 
been gradually admitted to his young master's confidence and friendship. 



34tf plautus. [b. c. 254-184. 

Heg. If you, who stand in no relation to him, 
So ill can bear his sufferings, what should I, 
"Who am his father — he my darling child ? 

Erg. I stand in no relation to him ? — he 
In none to me ? — Ah, Hegio ! say not that — 
And do not think so : — if he is to you 
A darling child, to me he's more than darling. 

Heg. Have a good heart. — I trust, within these few days 
My son will be at home again : for lo ! 
Among my captives I've an iEolian youth 
Of noble family and ample state. — 
I trust, I shall exchange him for my son. 

Erg. Heav'ns grant it may be so ! 

Heg. But are you ask'd 

Abroad to supper ? 

Erg. Nowhere that I know. — 

But why that question ? 

Heg. As it is my birthday, 

I thought of asking you to sup with me. — 

Erg. Oh ! good, sir, good — 

Heg. If you can be content 

With little. 

Erg. Oh, sir ! very, very little : 

I love it — 'tis my constant fare at home. 

Heg. Come, set yourself to sale. 

Erg. (loud.) Who'll buy me ? 

Heg. I- 

If no one will bid more. 

Erg. Can I expect, 

I or my friends, a better offer ? — So 
I bind me to the bargain, all the same 
As though I sold you terra firma. 

Heg. Say, 

A quicksand, rather, that will swallow all. — 
But if you come, you'll come in time. 

Erg. Nay, now 

I am at leisure. 

Act II. Scene I. 
Enter Slaves of Hegio, with Philocrates and Tysbabus. 

A Slace. If the immortal gods have so decreed 
That this affliction you should undergo, 
It is your duty patiently to bear it ; 
Which if you do, the trouble will be lighter. 
When at your home, you, I presume, were free : 
But since captivity is now your lot, 
Submission would become you, and to make 
Your master's rule a mild and gentle one 
By your good dispositions. — Should a master 
Commit unworthy actions, yet his slaves 
Must think them worthy ones. 



b. c. 254-184.] tlautus. 347 

Phil, and Tynd. Alas ! alas ! 

Slave. Why this bewailing ? — tears but hurt your eyes : 
Our best support and succor in distress 
Is fortitude of mind. 

Phil. But oh ! it shames us, 

That we are thus in chains. 

Slave. Yet might it grieve 

Our master more, were he to loose your chains, 
And let you be at large, when he has bought you. 

Phil. What can he fear from us ? — We know our duty, 
Were we at large. 

Slave. You meditate escape : 

I know what you'd be at. 

Phil. We run away ! 

Ah ! whither should we run ? 

Slave. To your own country. 

Phil. Prithee no more : it would but ill become us 
To imitate the part of fugitives. 

Slave. Yet, by my troth ! was there an opportunity, 
I would not be the man that should dissuade you. 

Phil. Permit us then to ask one favor of you. 

Slave, What is it ? 

Phil. That you'd give us opportunity 

To talk together, so that you yourselves, 
Nor any of these captives overhear us. 

Slave. Agreed. — (to the slaves.) Move farther off 
(to his companions.) We'll too retire, 
But let your talk be short. 

Phil. 'Twas my intention 

It should be so. — A little this way, Tyndarus — 

(to the other captives, and retires with them.) 

Slave. Go farther from them. 

Tynd. We on this account 

Are both your debtors. 

Phil. Farther off, so please you. (to Tynd.) 
A little off, that these may not be witnesses 
Of what we have to say, and that our plot 
Be not discovered. — For not plann'd with art, 
Deceit is no deceit, but if discovered, 
It brings the greatest ill to the contrivers. 
If you, my Tyndarus, are to pass for me, 
And I for you — my master you, and I 
Your servant — we have need of foresight, caution, 
W T isdom and secrecy — and we must act 
With prudence, care, and diligence. — It is 
A business of great moment, and we must not 
Sleep, or be idle in the execution. 

Tynd. I'll be what you would have me. 

Phil. So I trust. 

Tynd. Now for your precious life you see me stake 
My own, that's no less dear to me. 

Phil. I know it. 



348 plautus. [b. c. 254-184. 

Tynd. But when you shall have gained the point you aim at, 
Forget not then ! — It is too oft the way 
With most men ; — when they're suing for a favor, 
While their obtaining it is yet in doubt, 
They are most courteous, but when once they've got it, 
They change their manners, and from just become 
Dishonest and deceitful. — I now think you 
All that I wish, and what I do advise 
I would advise the same unto my father. 

Phil. And verily, if I durst, I'd call you father ; 
For next my father you are nearest to me. 

Tynd. I understand. 

Phil. Then what I oft have urg'd, 

Remember. — I no longer am your master, 
But now your servant. — This I beg then of you — 
Since the immortal gods will have it so, 
That I, from being once your master, now 
Should be your fellow-slave, I do entreat, 
By Prayer, 1 a favor which I could command, 
Once as my right. — By our uncertain state, 
By all my father's kindness shown unto you, 
By our joint fellowship in slavery, 
Th' event of war, bear me the same regard, 
As once I bore you, when I was your master, 
And you my slave ; forget not to remember, 
What once you have been, and who now you are. 

Tynd. I know — I now am you, and you are I. 

Phil. Forget not — and there's hope our scheme will prosper. 

Scene II. 

Enter Hegio speaking to those within. 

When I'm inform 'd of what I want to know, 

I shall come in again. — Where are those captives, 

I ordered to be brought before the house ? 

Phil. Chain'd as we are, and wall'd in by our keepers, 
You have provided that we shall not fail 
To answer to your call. 

Heg. The greatest care 

Is scarce enough to guard against deceit ; 
And the most cautious, even when he thinks 
He's most upon his guard, is often trick'd. 
But have I not just cause to watch you well, 
When I have bought you with so large a sum ? 

Phil. 'Twould not be right in us to blame you for it; 
Nor, should occasion offer to escape, 
Would it be right in you to censure us, 
That we made use of it. 

1 Per Precevi. According to Homer, who makes Prayer a goddess, and 
one of the daughters of Jupiter. 



b. 0. 254-184.] plautus. 349 

Heg. As you are here, 

So in your country is my son confin'd. 
Phil. What ! Is your son a captive ? 
Heg. Yes, he is. 

Phil. We are not then, it seems, the only cowards. 
Heg. (to Phil, supposing him servant to Tynd.) 
Come nearer this way — something I would know 
In private of you — and in which affair 
You must adhere to truth. 

Which would you choose ? 

To be a slave, or have your freedom ? tell me. 

Phil. That I prefer, which nearest is to good, 
And farthest off from evil : — though, I own, 
My servitude was little grievous to me ; 
They treated me the same as their own child. 

Tynd. (aside.) Bravo ! — I would not give a talent now 
To purchase even Thales the Milesian ; 
A very oaf in wisdom match'd with this man : 
How cleverly does he adapt his phrase 
To suit a slave's condition. 

Heg. Of what family 

Is this Philocrates ? 

Phil. The Polyphusian, 

A potent and most honorable house ! 

Heg. What honors held he in his country ? 
Phil. High ones, 

Such as the chief men can alone attain to. 

Heg. Seeing his rank's so noble, as you say, 
What is his substance ? 

Phil. As to that, the old one 

Is very warm. 

Heg. His father's living, then ? 

Phil. We left him so, when we departed thence ; 
But whether he is now alive or no, 
You must ask further of the nether regions. 

Heg. (addressing Tyndarus as Philocrates.) Philocrates, your 
servant 
Has acted as behoves an honest fellow. 
I've learn'd of him your family : — he has own'd it : 
Do you the same ; 'twill turn to your advantage — 
If you confess what, be assur'd, I know 
From him already. 

Tynd. Sir, he did his duty, 

When he confess'd the truth to you — although 
I would have fain conceal'd from you my state, 
My family, and my means. — But now alas ! 
Since I have lost my country and my freedom, 
Can I suppose it right, that he should dread 
Me before you ? The power of war has sunk 
My fortunes to a level with his own. 
Time was, he dar'd not to offend in word, 
Though now he may in deed. — Do you not mark, 
30 



350 plautus. [b. c. 254-184, 

How Fortnne moulds and fashions human beings, 

Just as she pleases ? Me, who once was free, 

She has made a slave, from highest thrown me down 

To lowest state : — Accustom'd to command, 

I now abide the bidding of another. — 

Yet if my master bear him with like sway, 

As when myself did lord it over mine, 

I have no dread, that his authority 

Will deal or harshly or unjustly with me. — 

So far I wished you to be made acquainted, 

If peradventure you dislike it not. 

Heg. Speak on, and boldly. 

Tynd. I ere this was free 

As your own son. — Him has the power of war 
Depriv'd of liberty, as it has me. 
He in my country is a slave — as now 
I am a slave in this. — There is indeed 
A God, that hears and sees whate'er we do : — 
As you respect me, so will He respect 
Your lost son. — To the well-deserving, good 
Will happen, to the ill-deserving, ill. — 
Think, that my father feels the want of me, 
As much as you do of your son. 

Heg. I know it. — 

But say, will you subscribe to the account 
Your servant gave ? 

Tynd. My father's rich, I own, 

My family is noble ; — but, I pray you, 
Let not the thought of these my riches bend 
Your mind to sordid avarice, lest my father, 
Though I'm his only child, should deem it fitter 
I were your slave, clothed, pamper 'd at your cost, 
Than beg my bread in my own country, where 
It were a foul disgrace. 

Heg. Thanks to the gods, 

And to my ancestors, I'm rich enough ; 
Nor do I hold, that every kind of gain 
Is always serviceable. — Gain, I know, 
Has render'd many great. — But there are times, 
When loss should be preferr'd to gain. — I hate it, 
'Tis my aversion, money : — many a man 
Has it enticed oft-times to wrong. — But now 
Attend to me, that you may know my mind. 
My son's a captive and a slave of Elis : — 
If you restore him to me, I require 
No other recompense ; — I'll send you back, 
You and your servant : — on no other terms 
Can you go hence. 

Tynd. You ask what's right and just, 

Thou best of men ! — But is your son a servant 
Of the public, or some private person ? 

Heg. A private — of Menarchus, a physician. 



b. c. 254-184.] plautus. 351 

Phil. 0, 'tis his father's client ; — and success 
Pours down upon you, like a hasty shower. 

Ileg. Find means then to redeem my son. 

Tynd. I'll find them. 

But I must ask you — 

Ileg. Ask me what you will, 

I'll do't — if to that purpose. 

Tynd. Hear, and judge. 

I do not ask you, till your son's return 
To grant me a dismission ; but, I pray you, 
Give me my slave, a price set on his head, 
That I may send him forthwith to my father, 
To work your son's redemption. 

Ileg. I'd despatch 

Some other rather, when there is a truce, 
Your father to confer with, who may bear 
Any commands you shall intrust him with. 

Tynd. 'Twould be in vain to send a stranger to him : 
You'd lose your labor : — Send my servant : — he'll 
Complete the whole, as soon as he arrives. 
A man more faithful you can never send, 
Nor one my father sooner would rely on, 
More to his mind, nor to whose care and confidence 
He'd sooner trust your son. — Then never fear : 
At my own peril will I prove his faith, 
Relying on his nature, since he knows 
I've born-! me with benevolence towards him. 

Ileg. Well — I'll despatch him, if you will — your word 
Pawn'd for his valuation. 

Tynd. Prithee do, 

And let him be dismiss'd without delay. 

Ileg. Can you show reason, if he don't return, 
Why you should not pay twenty minae for him ? l 

Tynd. No, surely: I agree. 

Ileg. Take off his chains — 

And take them off from both. 

Tynd. May all the gods 

Grant all your wishes ! Since that you have deign'd ■ 
To treat me with such favor, and releas'd me 
From my vile bonds : — I scarce can think it irksome 
To have my neck free from this galling collar. 

Ileg. The favors we confer on honest souls 
Teem with returns of service to the giver. 
But now, if you'd despatch him hence, acquaint him, 
Give him your orders, and forthwith instruct him 
What you would have him say unto your father. 
Shall I then call him to you ? 

Tynd. Do, sir — call him. 

1 About three hundred and fifty dollars. 



352 plautus. [b. c. 254-184. 

the miser, or pot of gold. 1 

Act IV. Scene I. 
Enter Strobilus. 

'Tis a good servant's duty to behave 
As I do — to obey his master's oi'ders 
Without delay or grumbling : for whoever 
Seeks to demean him to his master's liking, 
Ought to be quick in what concerns his master, 
And slow to serve himself: his very dreams, 
When sleeping, should remind him what he is. 
If any serve a master that's in love 
(As I do for example), and he find 
His passion has subdued him, 'tis his duty 
To keep him back, restrain him for his good, 
Not push him forward, where his inclinations 
Hurry him on. As boys that learn to swim, 
Rest on a kind of raft compos'd of rushes, 
That they may labor less, and move their hands, 

1 The Aulularia is principally occupied with the display of the character 
of a miser. No vice has been so often pelted with the good sentences of 
moralists, or so often ridiculed on the stage, as avarice ; and of all the 
characters that have been there represented, that of the miser in the Aulu- 
laria of Plautus is, perhaps, the most entertaining and best supported. Comic 
dramas have been divided into those of intrigue and character, and the 
Aulularia is chiefly of the latter description. It is so termed from Aula, or 
Olla, the diminutive of which is Aulula, signifying the little earthen pot 
that contained a treasure which had been concealed by his grandfather, but 
had been discovered by Euclio the miser, who is the principal character of 
the play. He, having found the treasure, employs himself in guarding it, 
and lives in continual apprehension, lest it should be discovered that he 
possesses it. Accordingly, he is brought on the stage driving off his servant, 
that she may not spy him while visiting this hoard, and afterwards giving 
directions of the strictest economy. He then leaves home on an errand very 
happily imagined — an attendance at a public distribution of money to the 
poor. Megadorus now proposes to marry his daughter, and Euclio comically 
enough supposes that he has discovered something concerning his newly 
acquired wealth ; but on his offering to take her without a portion, he is 
tranquillized, and agrees to the match. Knowing the disposition of his 
intended father-in-law, Megadorus sends provisions to his house, and also 
cooks, to prepare a marriage feast ; but the miser turns them out, and keeps 
what they had brought. At length his alarm for discovery rises to such a 
height, that he hides his treasures in a grove, consecrated to Sylvanus, which 
lay beyond the walls of the city. While thus employed, he is observed by 
the slave of Lyconides, the young man who had run off with the miser's 
daughter. Euclio coming to recreate himself with the sight of his gold, finds 
that it is gone. Returning home in despair, he is met by Lyconides, who, 
hearing of the projected nuptials between his uncle and the miser's daughter, 
now apologizes for his conduct; but the miser applies all that he says con- 
cerning his daughter to his lost treasure. 






B. c. 254-184.] plautus. 353 

And swim more easily ; so should a servant 
Buoy up his master, that is plung'd in love, 
From sinking like a plummet. — Such a one 
Will read his master's pleasure in his looks, 
And what he orders haste to execute, 
As quick as lightning. Whatsoever servant 
Acts in this wise, will never feel the lash, 
Nor make his fetters bright by constant wear. 
My master is enamor'd with the daughter 
Of this poor fellow Euclio, and has learn'd 
She's to be married to oar Megadorus. 
He therefore sent me hither as a spy, 
To inform him of what passes. — I may seat me 
Close by this altar here without suspicion ; 
Whence I can learn what's doing on all sides. 

[Sits down by an altar. 

Scene II. 
Enter Euclio from the temple of Faith. 

Good Faith, discover not to any one, 

That here my gold is plac'd : I have no fear, 

That any one will find it, it is lodg'd 

So privily. — On my troth, if any one 

Should find this pot cramm'd full of gold, he'd have 

A charming booty on't : but I beseech you 

Prevent it, Faith ! [Exit. 

Scene III. 
Strobilus, from his lurking-place. 

What did I hear him say ? — Immortal gods ! 

That he had hid a pot, brimful of gold, 

Here in this temple.— J beseech you, Faith, 

Be not to him more faithful than to me. 

This is the father, if I don't mistake, 

Of her my master is enamor'd with. 

I'll in, and rummage the whole temple o'er 

To find this treasure, now that he's employ'd. 

If I do find it, Faith, I'll offer you 

A gallon full of wine, and faithful measure 

I'll offer, but I'll drink it all myself. [ Goes to the temple of Faith, 

Scene IV. 
Eocuo returning. 

'Tis not for nothing that I heard the raven 
On my left hand : and once he scrap'd the ground, 
And then he croak'd : it made my heart to jump 
And flutter in my breast. Why don't I run ? 

30* 



354 plautus. [b. c. 254-184. 



Scene V. 
Euclio dragging out Strobilus. 

Out, earthworm, out, who but a moment past 
Crept under ground, wert nowhere to be seen ; 
But now thou dost appear, 'tis over with thee. 
Rascal, I'll be thy death. 

Strob. What a plague ails you ? 

What business have you, you old wretch, with me ? 
Why do you lug me so ? what makes you beat me ? 

Eucl. D'ye ask ? you whipping- stock ! you villainous thief \ 
Not one alone, but all the thieves together ! 

Stob. What have I stolen of yours ? 

Eucl. Restore it to me. 

Strob. Restore it ? what ? 

Eucl. D'ye ask ? 

Strob. I've taken nothing. 

Eucl. Come, give me what you've got. 

Strob. What are you at ? 

Eucl. What am I at ? — You shall not carry it off. 

Strob. What is it you would have ? 

Eucl. Come, lay it down. 

Strob. Why, we have laid no wager, that I know of. 

Eucl. Come, come, no joking ; lay it down, I say. 

Strob. What, must I lay down ? tell me, name it me : 
I have not touch'd, nor taken anything. 

Eucl. Show me your hands. 

Strob. Here they are. 

Eucl. Show them me. 

Strob. Why here they are. 

Eucl. I see — show me your third hand. 

Strob. (aside.) Sure the old fellow's crazy; he's bewitch'd. 
Prithee, now don't you use me very ill ? 

Eucl. Very ill truly, not to have you hang'd — 
Which I will do, if now you don't confess. 

Strob. Don't confess what ? 

Eucl. What did you take from hence ? 

Strob. May I be curs'd, if I took anything 
Belonging to you, or desired it, I — 

Eucl. Come, come, pull off your cloak. 

Strob. (pulling it off.) Just as you please. 

Eucl. You may have hid it under your clothes. 

Strob. Search where you will. 

Eucl. (aside.) The rogue, how civil is he 

That I may not suspect ! — I know his tricks. 
Once more show me your right hand. 

Strob. Here it is. 

Eucl. Well — now show me your left. 

Strob. Here they are both. 

Eucl. Come — I will search no farther — give it me. 

Strob. What ran«t I give you ? 



b. c. 254-184.] platjtus. 355 

Eucl. Psliaw ! don't trifle with me. 

You certainly have got it. 

Strob. Grot ? Got what ? 

Eucl. So— you would have me name it ; — but I will not. 
Restore whatever you have got of mine. 

Strob. You're mad sure. — You have search'd me at your pleasure, 
And you have found nothing of yours upon me. 

Eucl. Stay, stay — who was that other with you yonder ? 
(aside.) I'm ruin'd! he's at work within; and if 
I let him go, this other will escape. 
I've search'd him, it is true, and he has nothing. 
(to Strob.) Go where you will, and may the gods confound you ! 

Strob. I'm much oblig'd to you for your kind wishes. 

Eucl. I'll in, and, if I light on your accomplice, 
I'll strangle him. — Out of my sight — begone. 

Strob. I go. 

Eucl. And never let me see you more. 

[Euclio goes into the temple. 

Scene VI. 

Strobilus alone. 

I'd rather die the worst of deaths, than now 

Not lay an ambush for this old man's money. 

He will not dare to hide it here, I fancy ; 

But he will bring it out with him, and change 

Its situation. — Hush, the door is opening, 

And out he comes, the old hunks, with his treasure. 

I'll draw a little nearer to the gate here. [Skulks on one side. 

Scene VII. 
Euclio returns with his pot of money. 

Now — let me see — where can I find a place, 

A lonely one, where I may hide this treasure ? 

(meditating.) There is a grove, without the city walls, 

That's sacred to Sylvanus, unfrequented, 

Thick set with willows : on that spot I'll fix. 

Sylvanus will I sooner trust than Faith. [Exit, 

Act V. Scene I. 
Enter Strobilus with the pot of monet/. 

The griffins, dwelling on the golden mountains, 
Are not so rich as I. — Of other kings 
I speak not, beggarly, poor, abject fellows — 
I am King Philip's self. — Fine day for me ! 
Parting from hence I got there long before him, 
Climb'd up a tree, and waited to observe 
Where the old fellow would conceal his treasure. 
When he was gone, down slid I from the tree, 



356 TERENCE. [b. c. 195-159. 

And dug his pot up full of gold : — I then 

Saw him come back to the same place again ; 

But me he saw not, for I turn'd a little 

Out of his way. — Ah ! here he is himself. 

I'll go, and lay this pot up safe at home. [Exit. 

Scene II. 

Enter Euclio. 

I'm dead ! kill'd ! murder'd ! — Whither shall I run ? 
Whither not run ?— Stop thief! stop thief !— Who? what ? 
I know not — I see nothing — I walk blind — 
I cannot tell for certain where I'm going, 
Or where I am, or who I am. 

(to the specials.) Good people, 
I pray you, I implore you, I beseech you, 
Lend me your help — show me the man who took it. 
See ! in the garb of innocent white they skulk 
And sit as they were honest. 
(to one of the spectators.) What say you ? 

I will believe you : — You're an honest fellow — 
I read it in your countenance. — How's this ? 
What do you laugh at ? — 0, I know you all ; 
I know that there are many thieves among you. 
Hey ! — none of you have got it ? — I am slain ! 
Tell me who has it then ? — You do not know ! 
Ah me ! ah wo is me ! I'm lost ! I'm ruin'd ! 
Wholly undone ! in a most vile condition ! 
Such grief, such groaning, has this day brought on me, 
Hunger and poverty ! — I am a wretch, 
The vilest wretch on earth ! — Oh, what have I 
To do with life, depriv'd of such a treasure ? 
A treasure that I kept so carefully, 
And robb'd myself of comfort ! — Others now 
Rejoice through my mishap, and make them merry 
At my expense. — Oh ! oh ! I cannot bear it. 

[Runs about crying, stamping, frc. 



TERENCE. 
195—159 b. c. 



Publius Teeentius Afer' was the second and last of the Roman 
comic poets, of whose works anything more than fragments remains. 
But few particulars of his life are known. He was born at Carthage, 

1 "Afer," the African, from hi? birthplace. 



B. C. 195-159.] TERENCE. 357 

B. C. 195, and by birth or purchase became the slave of Publius Teren- 
tius Lucanus, a Roman senator. A handsome person and promising 
talents recommended him to his master, who afforded him the best 
education of the age, and finally manumitted him ; and on his manu- 
mission, according to general practice, he assumed the nomen of his 
patron — Terentius. The first play that he offered for representation 
was the Andria, which was so successful as to introduce him at once 
into the most refined and intellectual circles of Rome. After he had 
given six comedies to the stage, Terence left Rome for Greece, whence 
he never returned. The manner of his death, however, is altogether 
uncertain. According to one report he perished at sea, while on his 
voyage from Greece to Italy, bringing with him one hundred and eight 
comedies, which he had translated from Menander ; but, according to 
other accounts, he died in Arcadia, of grief at the loss of those 
comedies, which he had sent before him by sea to Rome. But to 
whatever cause his death may be attributed, it happened when he was 
at the early age of thirty-five. 

Of Terence's numerous writings but six comedies remain. They 
are: 1. Andria, the Woman of Andros, so called from the birthplace 
of Glycerium, its heroine ; 2. Hecyra, the Step-Mother ; 3. Heauton- 
timoroumenos, the S elf- Tormentor ; 4. Eunuchus, the Eunuch, which 
at the time was the most popular of Terence's comedies ; 5. Phormio, 
so called from a prominent character in the comedy; 6. Adelphi, the 
Brothers. These comedies have been translated into most of the lan- 
guages of modern Europe, and were, in conjunction with those of 
Plautus, on the revival of the drama, the models of the principal play- 
writers. 

Of the merits of Terence as a writer, there is but one opinion — that 
his style is the perfection of the Latin language, equally celebrated 
for its accuracy and its elegance. He also abounds with many high, 
moral sentiments, that would do honor to any Christian writer of the 
nineteenth century. But while the moral of his drama is sound and 
instructive ; while his pleasantry has nothing in it to offend good taste ; 
while his dialogue unites clearness, precision, and elegance, we must 
allow that "we should be better gratified by finding more force of 
invention in his plots ; more interest in his subjects ; more genuine 
spirit in his characters.'" 

1 The best editions of Terence are Lemaire's, Paris, 1827, three volumes ; 
and Stallbaum's, Leipsic, 1830, 8vo. The best English translation is that by 
George Colman, London, which has been often reprinted. For works illus- 
trative of Terence, the following may be consulted : Dunlop's History of 
Roman Literature; Dryden's Essay on Dramatic Poetry; Kurd's Dialogues 
on Poetical Imitation. 



358 TERENCE. [b. c. 195-159. 



SCENES FROM THE ANDRIA. 

The chief of the Dramatis Per sense are : — 

Simo, an old man, father of Pamphilus. 

Sosia, the freedman of Simo. 

Pamphilus, the son of Simo, and in love with Glyeerium. 

Davus, the slave of Pamphilus, shrewd and devoted to the interests of his 

master. 
Chremes, an old man, father of Chrysis. 

(tlycerium, " the ivoman of Andros" the heroine of the play. 
Chrysis, daughter of Chremes, and reputed sister of Glyeerium. 
Mysis, attendant of Glycerium. 

Act I. Scene I. 
Simo, Sosia, and Servants with provisions. 

Sim. Carry these things in: go! [Exit servants. 

Sosia. come here ; 
A word with you ! 

Sos. I understand : that these 

Be ta'en due care of. 

Sim. Quite another thing. 

Sos. What can my art do more for you ? 

Si?n. This business 

Needs not that art ; but those good qualities, 
Which I have ever known abide in you, — 
Fidelity and secrecy. 

Sos. I wait 

Your pleasure. 

Sim. Since I bought you from a boy, 

How just and mild a servitude you've pass'd 
With me, you're conscious : from a purchas'd slave 
I made you free, because you serv'd me freely : 
The greatest recompense I could bestow. 

Sos. I do remember. 

Sim. Nor do I repent. 

Sos. If I have ever done, or now do aught 
That's pleasing to you, Simo, I am glad, 
And thankful that you hold my service good. 
And yet this troubles me : for this detail, 
Forcing your kindness on my memory, 
Seems to reproach me of ingratitude. 
O tell me then at once, what would you, sir ? 

Sim. I will ; and this I must advise you first : 
The nuptial you suppose preparing now, 
Is all unreal. 

Sos. Why pretend it, then ? 

Sini. You shall hear all from first to last : and thus 
The conduct of my son, my own intent, 






B. C. 195-159.] TERENCE. 359 

And what part you're to act, you'll know at once. 

For my son, Sosia, now to manhood grown, 

Had freer scope of living : for before 

How might you know, or how indeed divine 

His disposition, good or ill, while youth, 

Fear, and a master, all constrain'd him ? 

Sos. True. 

Sim. Though most, as is the bent of youth, apply 

Their mind to some one object, horses, hounds, 

Or to the study of philosophy ; 

Yet none of these, beyond the rest, did he 

Pursue ; and yet, in moderation, all. 

I was o'erjoy'd. 

Sos. And not without good cause. 

For this I hold to be the golden rule 

Of life, "too much of one thing's good for nothing." 
Sim. So did he shape his life to bear himself 

With ease and frank good humor unto all ; 

Mixt in what company soe'er, to them 

He wholly did resign himself; and join'd 

In their pursuits, opposing nobody, 

Nor e'er assuming to himself: and thus 

With ease, and free from envy, may you gain 

Praise, and conciliate friends. 

Sos. He rul'd his life 

By prudent maxims : for as times go now, 
Compliance raises friends, and truth breeds hate. 

Sim. Meanwhile, 'tis now about three years ago, 
A certain woman from the isle of Andros, 
Came o'er to settle in this neighborhood, 
By poverty and cruel kindred driv'n : 
Handsome and young. 

Sos. Ah ! I begin to fear 

Some mischief from this Andrian. 

Sim. At first 

Modest and thriftily, though poor, she liv'd, 
With her own hands a homely livelihood 
Scarce earning from the distaff and the loom. 
They, who were then her chief gallants, by chance 
Drew thither, as oft happens with young men, 
My son to join their company. 
Strong I believ'd his virtue prov'd, and hence 
Thought him a miracle of continence ; 
For he who struggles with such spirits, yet 
Holds in that commerce an unshaken mind, 
May well be trusted with the governance 
Of his own conduct. Nor was I alone 
Delighted with his life, but all the world 
With one accord said all good things, and prais'd 
My happy fortunes, who possest a son 
So good, so lib'rally dispos'd. — In short, 
Chremes, scduc'd by this fine character, 



TERENCE. [B. C. 195-159. 

Came of his own accord, to offer me 
His only daughter with a handsome portion 
In marriage with my son. I lik'd the match ; 
Betroth'd my son ; and this was pitch'd upon, 
By joint agreement, for the wedding-day. 

Sos. And what prevents its being so ? 

Sim. I'll tell you. 

In a few days, the treaty still on foot, 
This neighbor Chrysis dies. 

Sos. In happy hour : 

Happy hour for you ! I was afraid of Chrysis. 

Sim. My son, on this event, was often there 
With those who were the late gallants of Chrysis ; 
Assisted to prepare the funeral, 
Ever condol'd, and sometimes wept with them. 
This pleased me then: for in myself I thought, 
Since merely for a small acquaintance-sake 
He takes this woman's death so nearly, what 
If he himself had lov'd ? What would he feel 
For me, his father ? All these things, I thought, 
Were but the tokens and the offices 
Of a humane and tender disposition. 
In short, on his account, e'en I myself 
Attend the funeral, suspecting yet 
No harm. 

Sos. And what — 

Sim. You shall hear all. The corpse 

Borne forth, we follow ; when among the women 
Attending there, I chanc'd to cast my eyes 
Upon one girl, in form — 

Sos. Not bad, perhaps — 

Sim. And look, so modest, and so beauteous, Sosia ! 
That nothing could, exceed it. As she seem'd 
To grieve beyond the rest, and as her air 
Appear'd more liberal and ingenuous, 
I went, and ask'd her woman who she was. 
Sister, they said, to Chrysis : when at once 
It struck my mind ; So ! so ! the secret's out ; 
Hence were those tears, and hence all that compassion ! 

Sos. Alas ! I fear how this affair will end ! 

Si7n. Meanwhile the funeral proceeds : we follow ; 
Come to the sepulchre ; the body's plac'd 
Upon the pile ; lamented : whereupon 
This sister, I was speaking of, all wild, 
Ran to the flames with peril of her life. 
Then ! there ! the frighted Pamphilus betrays 
His well-dissembled and long-hidden love ; 
Runs up, and takes her round the waist, and cries, 
Oh, my Grlycerium ! what is it you do ? 
Why, why endeavor to destroy yourself ? 
Then she in such a manner, that you thence 
Might easily perceive their long, long love, 






B. C. 195-159.] TERENCE. 361 

Threw herself back into his arms, and wept, 

how familiarly ! 

Sos. How say you ! 

Sim. I 

Return in anger thence, and hurt at heart, 
Yet had not cause sufficient for reproof. 
What have I done ? he'd say ; or how deserv'd 
Reproach ? or how offended, father ? — Her, 
Who meant to cast herself into the flames, 

1 stopt. A fair excuse ! 

Sos. You're in the right : 

For him, who sav'd a life, if you reprove, 
What will you do to him that offers wrong ? 

Sim. Chremes next day came open-mouth'd to me ; 
Oh monstrous ! he had found that Pamphilus 
Was married to this stranger-woman. I 
Deny the fact most steadily, and he 
As steadily insists. In short, we part 
On such bad terms, as let me understand 
He would refuse his daughter. 

Sos. Did not you 

Then take your son to task ? 

Sim. Not even this 

Appear'd sufficient for reproof. 

Sos. How so ? 

Sim. Father (he might have said), you have, you know, 
Prescrib'd p term to all these things yourself. 
The time is near at hand, when I must live 
According to the humor of another. 
Meanwhile, permit me now to please my own ! 

Sos. What cause remains to chide him then ? 

Sim. If he 

Refuses, on account of this amour, 
To take a wife, such obstinate denial 
Must be considered as his first offence. 
Wherefore I now, from this mock-nuptial, 
Endeavor to draw real cause to chide : 
And that same rascal Davus, if he's plotting, 
That he may let his counsel run to waste, 
Now, when his knaveries can do no harm : 
Who, I believe, with all his might and main 
Will strive to cross my purposes ; and that 
More to plague me, than to oblige my son. 

Sos. Why so ? 

Sim. Why so ! Bad mind, bad heart. But if 

I catch him at his tricks ! — But what need words ? — 
If, as I wish it may, it should appear 
That Pamphilus objects not to the match, 
Chremes remains to be prevail'd upon, 
And will, I hope, consent. 'Tis now your place 
To counterfeit these nuptials cunningly ; 
31 



362 TERENCE. [b. c. 195-159. 

To frighten Davus ; and observe my son, 

What lie's about, what plots they hatch together. 

Sos. Enough ; I'll take due care. Let's now go in. 

Sim. Go first ; I'll follow you. [Exit Sosia. 

Beyond all doubt 
My son's averse to take a wife ; I saw 
How frighten'd Davus was, but even now, 
When he was told a nuptial was preparing — 
But here he comes. 

Scene III. 
DAvrs alone. 

Troth, Davus, 'tis high time to look about you ; 

No room for sloth, as far as I can sound 

The sentiments of our old gentleman 

About this marriage ; which, if not fought off, 

And cunningly, spoils me, or my poor master. 

I know not what to do : nor can resolve 

To help the son, or to obey the father. 

If I desert poor Pamphilus, alas ! 

I tremble for his life ; if I assist him, 

I dread his father's threats : a shrewd old cuff, 

Not easily deceiv'd. For first of all, 

He knows of this amour ; and watches me 

With jealous eyes, lest I devise some trick 

To break the match. If he discovers it, 

Wo to poor Davus ! nay, if he's inclin'd 

To punish me, he'll seize on some pretence 

To throw me into prison, right or wrong. 

SCEXE V. 

Enter Pamphilus, Mtsis behind. 

Pam. Is this well done ? or like a man ? — Is this 
The action of a father ? 

Mys. What's the matter ? 

Pam. Oh all ye Pow'rs of heaven and earth, what's wrong 
If this is not so ? — If he was determin'd 
That I to-day should marry, should I not 
Have had some previous notice ? — ought not he 
To have inform'd me of it long ago ? 

Mys. Alas ! what's this I hear ? 

Pam. And Chremes too, 

Who had refus'd to trust me with his daughter, 
Changes his mind, because I change not mine. 
Can he then be so obstinately bent 
To tear me from Glycerium ? To lose her 
Is losing life. — Was ever man so crost, 
So curst as I ? — Oh Pow'rs of heaven and earth ! 
Can I by no means fly from this alliance 



B. C. 195-159.] TERENCE. 363 

With Chreraes' family ? — so oft contem'd 
And held in scorn! — all done, concluded all ! — 
Rejected, then recall'd : — and why ? — unless, 
For so I must suspect, they breed some monster : 
Whom as they can obtrude on no one else, 
They bring to me. 

Mys. Alas, alas ! this speech 

Has struck me almost dead with fear. 

Pam. And then 

My father ! what to say of him ? — Oh shame ! 
A thing of so much consequence to treat 
So negligently! — For but even now 
Passing me in the Forum, Pamphilus ! 
To-day's your wedding-day, said he : Prepare ; 
Go, get you home ! — This sounded in my ears 
As if he said, Gro, hang yourself ! — I stood 
Confounded. Think you I could speak one word ? 
Or offer an excuse, how weak soever ? 
No, I was dumb : — and had I been aware, 
Should any ask what I'd have done, I would, 
Rather than this, do anything. — But now 
What to resolve upon ? — So many cares 
Entangle me at once, and rend my mind, 
Pulling it diff'rent ways. My love, compassion, 
This urgent match, my rev'rence for my father, 
Who yet has ever been so gentle to me, 
And held to slack a rein upon my pleasures. — 
And I oppose him ? — Racking thought ! — Ah me ! 
I know not what to do. 

Mys. Alas, I fear 

Where this uncertainty will end. 'Twere best 
He should confer with her ; or I at least 
Speak touching her to him. For while the mind 
Hangs in suspense, a trifle turns the scale. 

Pam. Who's there ? what, Mysis ! save you ! 

Mys. {coming forward.) Save you! sir. 

Pam. How does she ? 

Mys. How ! oppress'd with wretchedness ; 

To-day supremely wretched, as to-day 
Was formerly appointed for your wedding. 
And then she fears lest you desert her. 

Pam. I ! 

Desert her ? Can I think on't ? or deceive 
A wretched maid, who trusted to my care 
Her life and honor ! Her, whom I have held 
Near to my heart, and cherish'd as my wife ? 
leave her modest and well-nurtur'd mind 
Through want to be corrupted ? Never, never. 

Mys. No doubt, did it depend on you alone ; 
But if constrain'd — 

Pam. Do you think me so vile ? 

Or so ungrateful, so inhuman, savage, 



364 TERENCE. [b. c. 195-159. 

That nor long intercourse, nor love, nor shame, 
Can make me keep my faith ? 

Mys. I only know 

That she deserves you should remember her. 

Pam. I should remember her ? Oh, Mysis, Mysis ! 
The words of Chrysis touching my Grlycerium 
Are written in my heart. On her death-bed 
She calPd me. I approach'd her. You retir'd. 
We were alone ; and Chrysis thus began : 
"My Pamphilus, you see the youth and beauty 
Of this unhappy maid : and well you know 
These are but feeble guardians to preserve 
Her fortune or her fame. By this right hand 
I do beseech you, by your better angel, 
By your tried faith, by her forlorn condition, 
I do conjure you, put her not away, 
Nor leave her to distress. If I have ever, 
As my own brother, lov'd you ; or if she 
Has ever held you dear 'bove all the world, 
And ever shown obedience to your will — 
I do bequeath you to her as a husband, 
Friend, guardian, father : All our little wealth 
To you I leave, and trust it to your care." — 
She join'd our hands, and died. — I did receive her, 
And once receiv'd will keep her. 1 



HUMANITY. 

Menedemus. Have you such leisure from your own affairs 
To think of those that don't concern you, Chremes ? 
Chr ernes. I am a man, and feel for all mankind. 2 

From the Self -Tormentor . 



THE MIND IS ITS OWN PLACE. 

Clitipho. They say that he is miserable. 

Chremes. Miserable ! 

Who needs be less so ? For what earthly good 
Can man possess which he may not enjoy? 
Parents, a prosperous country, friends, birth, riches — 

1 Cicero has bestowed great praise on this act. "The picture," he 
observes, "of the manners of Pamphilus — the death and funeral of Chrysis 
— and the grief of her supposed sister — are all represented in the most 
delightful colors." 

2 The Latin of this noble sentiment, so well known, is Homo sum, humani 
nihil a me alienum piito, "I am a man, and whatever interests humanity I 
consider as interesting myself," and the thousands upon thousands in the 
vast amphitheatre shouted applause. And shall not we who live under a 
brighter dispensation cherish and act out this truly Christian sentiment? 






b. c. 95-52.] lucretius. 365 

Yet these all take their value from the mind 
Of the possessor : He, that knows their use, 
To him they're blessings ; he that knows it not, 
To him misuse converts them into curses. 

From the Self- Tormentor. 



WOMEN. 

Oh heaven and earth, what animals are women ! 

What a conspiracy between them all 

To do or not, to hate or love alike ! 

Not one but has the sex so strong within her, 

She differs nothing from the rest. Step-mothers 

All hate their step-daughters : and every wife 

Studies alike to contradict her husband, 

The same perverseness running through them all. 

Each seems train'd up in the same school of mischief; 

And of that school, if any such there be, 

My wife, I think, is schoolmistress. 

From the Step-Mother. 



THE UNFORTUNATE NEGLECTED. 

For they, whose fortunes are less prosperous, 
Are ali, I know not how, the more suspicious ; 
And think themselves neglected and contemn'd 
Because of their distress and poverty. 



LUCRETIUS. 
95—52 b. c. 



Op the great didactic poet of Rome, Titus Lucretius Carus, we know 
but little more than that he was born at Rome, educated at Athens, 
lived a retired life, and died in his forty-fourth year, by his own hand, 
in a paroxysm of insanity, occasioned, as was supposed, by grief for 
the banishment of his friend Memmius. 

The work which has immortalized the name of Lucretius is a philo- 
sophical didactic poem, in hexameter verse, of seven thousand four 
hundred lines, divided into six books, entitled De Rerum Natura, "On 
the Nature of Things." It was introduced into the world under the 
auspices and revision of Cicero, whose admiration of the genius of the 
poet was equalled only by his contempt for his Epicurean principles of 

31* 



366 Lucretius. [b. c. 95-52. 

philosophy. Indeed, in his atheistical views he seems to have gone 
further than Epicurus, maintaining that certain particles of matter, 
which are the seeds or elemental principles of all things, animate and 
inanimate, after having been agitated to and fro in the vacuum of 
space from all eternity, and after having undergone every possible con- 
figuration and change of position, settled themselves, by this continued 
fluctuation and collision, into the organic structure of the universe. To 
this view of things Cicero opposes this indignant interrogatory : " What 
can be more foolishly arrogant, than for a man to think that he has 
an understanding in himself, but that yet in all the universe there is 
no such thing ; or to suppose that those things which by the utmost 
stretch of his reason he can scarcely comprehend, should be moved 
and managed without any reason at all." 1 

But to do justice to Lucretius we must bear in mind the age in 
which he lived. In all times men are more or less affected by the 
opinions around them ; and the absurdities of Pagan polytheism, the 
natural revulsion of the human mind from 

Gods partial, changeful, passionate, unjust, 
Whose attributes were rage, revenge, or lust, 

had, doubtless, as strong an influence in driving Lucretius to atheism, 
as the palpable nonsense and monstrous absurdities of popery, which 
claimed to be Christianity, had in leading Voltaire and the other 
infidels of the French Revolution to renounce Christianity itself. 2 

The first two books of the work of Lucretius are taken up with an 
explication of his speculative theories on the origin of things. In the 
third he endeavors to apply his principles, and to show that the soul 
is material and perishes with the body. The fourth is devoted to the 
theory of the five senses. The fifth book, generally regarded as the most 
finished, treats of the origin of the world and of all things therein, of 
the movements of the heavenly bodies, of the vicissitudes of the sea- 
sons, of day and night, of the rise and progress of society, and of the 
various arts and sciences which embellish and ennoble life. The sixth 
book explains some of the most striking natural phenomena, especially 
thunder, lightning, hail, rain, snow, earthquakes, volcanoes, &c, also 
the nature of diseases, closing with an appalling description of the 
great plague at Athens. 

"As a didactic poet and reasoner in verse, there is no writer, with 

1 Cicero, De Legihis, 1, 2. 

3 And what, in our day, could more tend to promote infidelity than for 
those who assume to be teachers of religion, to maintain that the Scriptures, 
claiming to be the revealed will of God, sanction the monstrous barbarism 
and sin of slavery ?" 






b. c. 95-52.] , lucretius. 367 

the exception of Pope, who can be compared with Lucretius. His 
skill and perspicuity in pressing his inferences and pursuing his 
strains of argument are assisted by the lucid elegance of his language, 
and a style emphatical and clear. His luminous and nervous diction, 
and the grandeur of his versification, throw over the abstruseness of 
metaphysics a splendid and agreeable coloring ; and the unremitted 
ardor of his manner, no less than the fertility of his matter, enables 
him to take full and despotic possession of the faculties of the reader. 
With his fondness for scientific demonstrations drawn from subjects 
of natural philosophy, and his expertness in logical processes of rea- 
soning, he combines the seldom associated qualities of a rich and 
excursive imagination, and a genius which delights in glowing crea- 
tions of imagery, and in bold and magnificent conceptions. His poetry 
is marked by a peculiar romantic wildness, and a kind of gloomy and 
melancholy sublimity : yet his fancy is equally conversant with soft 
and smiling images ; and the delicate grouping of some of his figures 
would furnish subjects for the pencil and the chisel." 1 



IN PRAISE OF PHILOSOPHY. 

'Tis pleasant, safely to behold from shore 

The rclling ship, and hear the tempest roar : 

Not that another's pain is our delight : 

But pains unfelt produce the pleasing sight. 

'Tis pleasant also to behold from far 

The moving legions mingled in the war : 

But much more sweet thy laboring steps to guide 

To virtue's heights, with wisdom well supplied, 

And all the magazines of learning fortified : 

From thence to look below on humankind, 

Bewilder'd in the maze of life, and blind : 

To see vain fools ambitiously contend 

For wit and power ; their last endeavors lend 

To outshine each other, waste their time and health 

In search of honor, and pursuit of wealth. 

wretched man ! in what a mist of life, 

Enclos'd with dangers and with noisy strife, 

He spends his little span ; and overfeeds 

His cramm'd desires with more than nature needs ! 

For nature wisely stints our appetite, 

And craves no more than undisturb'd delight, 

Which minds unmix'd with cares and fears obtain ; 

A soul serene, a body void of pain. 

So little this corporeal frame requires, 

So bounded are our natural desires, 

1 Elton, vol. ii. 



368 lucretius. . [b. c. 95-52. 

That, wanting all, and setting pain aside, 

With, hare privation sense is satisfied. 

If golden sconces hang not on the walls, 

To light the courtly suppers and the halls ; 

If the proud palace shines not with the state 

Of hurnish'd bowls, and of reflected plate ; 

If well tun'd harps, nor the more pleasing sound 

Of voices, from the vaulted roofs rebound ; 

Yet on the grass, beneath a poplar shade, 

By the cool stream our careless limbs are laid ; 

With cheaper pleasures innocently bless'd, 

When the warm spring in gaudy flowers is dress 'd. 

Nor will the raging fever's fire abate 

With golden canopies and beds of state ; 

But the poor patient will as soon be found 

On the hard mattress, or the mother ground. 

Then, since our bodies are not eas'd the more 

By birth, or power, or fortune's wealthy store, 

'Tis plain, these useless toys of every kind 

As little can relieve the laboring mind : 

Unless we could suppose the dreadful sight 

Of marshal'd legions moving to the fight 

Could, with their sound, and terrible array, 

Expel our fears, and drive the thought of death away. 

But since the supposition vain appears, 

Since clinging cares, and trains of inbred fears, 

Are not with sounds to be affrighted thence, 

But in the midst of pomp pursue the prince ; 

Not aw'd by arms, but in the presence bold, 

Without respect to purple or to gold ; 

Why should not we those pageantries despise, 

Whose worth but in our want of reason lies ? 

For life is all in wandering errors led ; 

And just as children are surpris'd with dread, 

And tremble iD the dark, so riper years, 

E'en in broad daylight, are possess 'd with fears, 

And shake at shadows fanciful and vain, 

As those that in the breasts of children reign. 

These bugbears of the mind, this inward hell, 

No rays of outward sunshine can dispel ; 

But nature and right reason must display 

Their beams abroad, and bring the gladsome soul to day. 

Dry den. 



VERNAL SHOWERS. 

When, on the bosom of maternal earth, 
His showers redundant genial iEther pours, 
The dulcet drops seem lost : but harvests rise, 
Jocund and lovely; and, with foliage fresh, 
Smiles every tree, and bends beneath its fruit. 



b. c. 95-52.] lucretius. 369 

Hence man and beast are nourish'd ; hence o'erflow 
Our joyous streets with crowds of frolic youth; 
And with fresh songs the umbrageous groves resound. 
Hence the herds fatten, and repose, at ease, 
O'er the gay meadows their unwieldy forms *, 
While from each full- distended udder drops 
The candid milk, spontaneous ; and hence, too, 
With tottering footsteps, o'er the tender grass, 
Gambol their wanton young, each little heart 
Quivering beneath the genuine nectar quaff'd. 

John Mason Good. 



THE NEW-BORN BABE. 

Thus, like a sailor by a tempest hurl'd 

Ashore, the babe is shipwreck'd on the world : 

Naked he lies, and ready to expire ; 

Helpless of all that human wants require ; 

Expos 'd upon inhospitable earth, 

From the first moment of his hapless birth. 

Straight with foreboding cries he fills the room ; 

Too true a presage of his future doom. 

But flocks and herds, and every savage beast, 

By more indulgent Nature are increas'd : 

They want no rattles for their froward mood, 

Nor nurse to reconcile them to their food 

With broken words ; nor winter blasts they fear, 

Nor change their habits with the changing year ; 

Nor, for their safety, citadels prepare, 

Nor forge the wicked instruments of war : 

Unlabor'd earth her bounteous treasure grants, 

And Nature's lavish hand supplies their common wants. 

Dry den. 



ANIMALS AND THEIR YOUNG. 

The race of man, the beasts that graze, or prey, 
The speechless natives of the watery way, 
Birds of all wing, or those that joy to rove 
In still recesses of th' embowering grove, 
Or on the grassy bank their pastime take ; 
That sip the fountain, or that skim the lake ; 
Not one of all the myriad broods you find, 
But some distinction marks him from his kind. 
Else, could the young with conscious rapture go 
To greet its dam ? or she her nursling know ? 
But they no less the lines distinctive scan, 
Than reas'ning optics man discern from man. 

When, in the fane, the victim-calf expires, 
While clouds of fragrance roll from hallow'd fires 



310 Lucretius. [b. c. 95-52. 

When purple currents, warm with floating life, 

Pours by the shrine the sacrificial knife, 

Through the green lawns the pensive mother strays, 

Her anxious search the frequent step bewrays : 

Each plain she traverses, each haunt she tries, 

And turns, and wistful turns, her straining eyes : 

Now stops, and tells in moans her ravish'd love 

To listening echoes of the umbrageous grove : 

Oft at the stall, in anguish and despair, 

Her darling seeks ; but finds no darling there. 

The tender shrubs no more with joy she views, 

No herbs, sweet glistening with refreshing dews, 

Can soothe the ranklings of Affliction's dart, 

Plung'd to the last recesses of her heart. 

Of other young no semblance gives relief; 

No love transferr'd can mitigate her grief. 

See through gay meads the wretched wanderer go, 

A pensive form of unavailing wo ! 

Gilbert Wakefield. 



TWELVE SIGNS OF THE ZODIAC. 

The leader Ram, all bright with golden wool. 
Looks back, and wonders at the mighty Bull, 
Whose back parts first appear : he bending lies 
With threat'ning head, and calls the Tiuins to rise : 
They clasp for fear, and mutually embrace, 
Then comes the Crab with an unsteady pace : 
Next him the angry Lion shakes his mane : 
The following Jlaid abates his rage again. 
Then day and night are balanc'd in the Scales: 
Equal awhile, at length the night prevails : 
And longer grown the heavier Scale inclines, 
And draws the Scorpion from the winter signs. 
The Centaur follows, with an aiming eye, 
His bow full drawn, and ready to let fly : 
The twisted Goat his horns contracted shows, 
The Water-Bearer's urn a flood o'erflows : 
Next their lov'd waves the Fishes take their seat, 
Join with the Ram, and make the round complete. 

Creech. 



LOVE UNIVERSAL. 

Delight of human kind, and gods above. 
Parent of Rome, propitious queen of love ! 
Whose vital pow'r, air, earth, and sea, supplies ; 
And breeds whate'er is born beneath the rolling skies. 
For ev'ry kind, by thy prolific might, 
Springs, and beholds the regions of the light. 



B. C. 60.] CORNELIUS NEPOS. 371 

Thee, Goddess, thee, the clouds and tempests fear, 

And at thy pleasing presence disappear : 

For thee the land in fragrant flow'rs is drest, ") 

For thee the ocean smiles, and smooths her wavy breast, [■ 

And heav'n itself with more serene and purer light is blest. J 

For when the rising spring adorns the mead, 

And a new scene of nature stands display'd, 

When teeming birds, and cheerful greens appear, 

And western gales unlock the lazy year, 

The joyous birds thy welcome first express, 

Whose native songs thy genial pow'r confess : 

Then savage beasts bound o'er their slighted food, 

Struck with thy darts, and tempt the raging flood. 

All nature is thy gift, earth, air, and sea ; 

Of all that breathes the various progeny, 

Stung with delight, is goaded on by thee. 

O'er barren mountains, o'er the flow'ry plain, 

The leafy forests, and the liquid main, 

Extends thy uncontroll'd and boundless reign. 

Through all the living regions thou dost move, 

And scatter'st, where thou go'st, the kindly seeds of love. 

Dryden. 






CORNELIUS NEPOS. 

FLOURISHED ABOUT 60 B. C. 

Of the date or place of the birth or death of Cornelius Nepos we 
know nothing, and scarcely more of his life. He was probably a 
native of Verona, or some neighboring village, and died during the 
reign of Augustus. He was the contemporary and friend of Cicero, 
Atticus, and Catullus. Of the many works which he is known to 
have written, we have only his "Lives of Illustrious Men." 1 



ARISTIDES. 

Aristides, the son of Lysimachus, a native of Athens, was 
almost of the same age with Themistocles, and contended with 
him, consequently, for pre-eminence, as they were determined 

1 "Nepos" has always been a favorite school-book, and hence numerous 
editions of his Lives have been published. Among the best are : Van Sta- 
veren, Lugd. Bat.. 1773; Tzschucke, Gotting., 1804; Lemaire, Paris, 8vo., 
1820, which is probably the most serviceable edition. Indeed, the scholar 
can hardly go wrong in procuring any of the Latin authors edited by Lemaire. 



372 CORNELIUS nepos. [b. c. 60. 

rivals one to the other ; and it was seen in their case how 
much eloquence could prevail over integrity; for though Aris- 
tides was so distinguished for uprightness of conduct, 1 that he 
was the only person in the memory of man (as far at least as I 
have heard) who was called by the surname of Just, yet being 
overborne by Themistocles with the ostracism, he was con- 
demned to be banished for ten years. 

Aristides, finding that the excited multitude could not be 
appeased, and noticing, as he yielded to their violence, a person 
writing that he ought to be banished, is said to have asked him 
"why he did so, or what Aristides had done, that he should be 
thought deserving of such a punishment ?" The person writing 
replied, that "he did not know Aristides, but that he was not 
pleased that he had labored to be called Just beyond other 
men." 

He did not suffer the full sentence of ten years appointed 
by law, for when Xerxes made a descent upon Greece, he was 
recalled into his country by a decree of the people, about six 
years after he had been exiled. 

He was present, however, in the sea-fight at Salamis, which 
was fought before he was allowed to return. 2 He was also 
commander of the Athenians at Plataea, in the battle in which 
Mardonius was routed, and the army of the barbarians was cut 
off. Nor is there any other celebrated act of his in military 
affairs recorded, besides the account of this command ; but of 
his justice, equity, and self-control, there are many instances. 
Above all, it was through his integrity, when he was joined in 
command of the common fleet of Greece with Pausanias, under 
whose leadership Mardonius had been put to flight, that the 
supreme authority at sea was transferred from the Lacedaemo- 
nians to the Athenians ; for before that time the Lacedaemonians 
had the command both by sea and land. But at this period 
it happened, through the indiscreet conduct of Pausanias, aud 
the equity of Aristides, that all the states of Greece attached 
themselves as allies to the Athenians, and chose them as their 
leaders against the barbarians. 

In order that they might repel the barbarians more easily, 
if perchance they should try to renew the war, Aristides was 
chosen to settle what sum of money each state should contri- 
bute for building fleets and equipping troops. By his appoint- 

1 Abstinentid.'] That is, abstaining from the property of others ; modera- 
tion ; disinterestedness. 

3 Priusquam pccnd liberaretur .] Before he was freed from the punishment 
(of exile). 



B. C. 60.] CORNELIUS NEPOS. 373 

ment four hundred and sixty talents were deposited annually 
at Delos, which they fixed upon to be the common treasury; 
but all this money was afterwards removed to Athens. 

How great was his integrity, there is no more certain proof, 
than that, though he had been at the head of such important 
affairs, he died in such poverty that he scarcely left money to 
defray the charges of his funeral. Hence it was that his 
daughters were brought up at the expense of the country, and 
were married with dowries given them from the public treasury. 
He died about four years after Themistocles was banished from 
Athens. 

CTMON. 

Cimon, the son of Miltiades, an Athenian, experienced a 
very unhappy entrance on manhood ; for as his father had been 
unable to pay to the people the fine imposed upon him, and 
had consequently died in the public gaol, Cimon was kept in 
prison, nor could he, by the Athenian laws, be set at liberty, 
unless he paid the sum of money that his father had been fined. 
He had married, however, his sister by the father's side, named 
Elpinice, induced not more by love than by custom ; for the 
Athenians are allowed to marry their sisters by the same father; 
and a certain Callias, a man whose birth was not equal to his 
wealth, and who had made a great fortune from the mines, 
being desirous of having her for a wife, tried to prevail on 
Cimon to resign her to him, saying that if he obtained his 
desire, he would pay the fine for him. Though Cimon received 
such a proposal with scorn, Elpinice said that she would not 
allow a son of Miltiades to die in the public prison, when she 
could prevent it; and that she would marry Callias if he would 
perform what he promised. 

Cimon, being thus set free from confinement, soon attained 
great eminence: for he had considerable eloquence, the utmost 
generosity, and great skill, not only in civil law, but in military 
affairs, as he had been employed from his boyhood with his 
father in the army. He in consequence held the people of the 
city under his control, and had great influence over the troops. 
In his first term of service, on the river Strymon, he put to 
flight great forces of the Thracians, founded the city of Am- 
phipolis, and sent thither ten thousand Athenian citizens as a 
colony. He also, in a second expedition, conquered and took 
at Mycale a fleet of two hundred ships belonging to the Cy- 
prians and Phoenicians, and experienced like good fortune by 
32 



374 CORNELIUS nepos. [b. c. 60. 

land on the same day; for after capturing the enemy's vessels, 
he immediately led out his troops from the fleet, and overthrew 
at the first onset a vast force of the barbarians. By this victory 
he obtained a great quantity of spoil ; and, as some of the 
islands, through the rigor of the Athenian government, had 
revolted from them, he secured the attachment, in the course 
of his return home, of such as were well disposed, and obliged 
the disaffected to return to their allegiance. Scyros, which the 
Dolopes at that time inhabited, he depopulated, because it had 
behaved itself insolently, ejecting the old settlers from the city 
and island, and dividing the lands among his own countrymen. 
The Thasians, who relied upon their wealth, he reduced as 
soon as he attacked them. With these spoils the city of Athens 
was adorned on the side which looks to the south. 

When, by these acts, he had attained greater honor in the 
state than any other man, he fell under the same public odium 
as his father, and others eminent among the Athenians ; for by 
the votes of the shells, which they call the Ostracism, he was 
condemned to ten years' exile. Of this proceeding the Athe- 
nians repented sooner than himself; for after he had submitted, 
with great fortitude, to the ill-feeling of his ungrateful coun- 
trymen, and the Lacedaemonians had declared war against the 
Athenians, a desire for his well-known bravery immediately 
ensued. In consequence, he was summoned back to his country 
five years after he had been banished from it. But as he en- 
joyed the guest-friendship of the Lacedaemonians, he thought 
it better to hasten to Sparta, and accordingly proceeded thither 
of his own accord, and settled a peace between those two most 
powerful states. 

Being sent as commander, not long after, to Cyprus, with a 
fleet of two hundred ships, he fell sick, after he had conquered 
the greater part of the island, and died in the town of Citium. 

The Athenians long felt regret for him, not only in war, but 
in time of peace ; for he was a man of such liberality, that 
though he had farms and gardens in several parts, he never set 
a guard over them for the sake of preserving the fruit, so that 
none might be hindered from enjoying his property as he 
pleased. Attendants always followed him with money, that, if 
any one asked his assistance, he might have something to give 
him immediately, lest, by putting him off, he should appear to 
refuse. Frequently, when he saw a man thrown in his way by 
chance in a shabby dress, he gave him his own cloak. A din- 
ner was dressed for him daily in such abundance, that he could 
invite all whom he saw in the forum uninvited ; a ceremony 



B. C. 60.] CORNELIUS NEPOS. 3T5 

which lie did not fail to observe every day. His protection, 
his assistance, his pecuniary means, were withheld from none. 
He enriched many ; and he buried at his own cost many poor 
persons, who at their death had not left sufficient for their 
interment. In consequence of such conduct, it is not at all 
surprising that his life was free from trouble, and his death 
severely felt. 

EPAMINONDAS. 

Epaminondas was the son of Polymnis, a Theban of an 
honorable family. Though left poor by his ancestors, he was 
so well educated that no Theban was more so ; for he was 
taught to play upon the harp, and to sing to the sound of its 
strings, by Dionysius; to play on the flutes by Olympiodorus; 
and to dance by Calliphron. For his instructor in philosophy 
he had Lysis of Tarentum, a Pythagorean, to whom he was so 
devoted that, young as he was, he preferred the society of a 
grave and austere old man before that of all those of his own 
age ; nor did he part with him until he so far excelled his 
fellow students in learning, that it might easily be perceived 
he would in like manner excel them all in other pursuits. After 
he grew up, and began to apply himself to gymnastic exercises, 
he studied not so much to increase the strength, as the agility, 
of his body; for he thought that strength suited the purposes 
of wrestlers, but that agility conduced to excellence in war. 
He used to exercise himself very much, therefore, in running 
and wrestling, as long as he could grapple, and contend stand- 
ing, with his adversary. But he spent most of his labor on 
martial exercises. 

To the strength of body thus acquired were added many 
good qualities of the mind ; for he was modest, prudent, grave, 
wisely availing himself of opportunities, skilled in war, brave 
in action, and possessed of remarkable courage ; he was so 
great a lover of truth, that he would not tell a falsehood even in 
jest. He was also master of his passions, gentle in disposition, 
and patient to a wonderful degree, submitting to wrong, not 
only from the people, but from his own friends ; he was a 
remarkable keeper of secrets, a quality which is sometimes not 
less serviceable than to speak eloquently; and he was an atten- 
tive listener to others, because he thought that by this means 
knowledge was most easily acquired. Whenever he came into 
a company, therefore, in which a discussion was going on con- 
cerning government, or a conversation was being held on any 



376 CORNELIUS NEPOS. [b. c. 60. 

point of philosophy, he never went away till the discourse was 
brought to its conclusion. He bore poverty so easily, that he 
received nothing from the state but glory. He did not avail 
himself of the means of his friends to maintain himself; but 
he often used his credit to relieve others, to such a degree that 
it might be thought all things were in common between him 
and his friends ; for when any one of his countrymen had been 
taken by the enemy, or when the marriageable daughter of a 
friend could not be married for want of fortune, he used to call 
a council of his friends, and to prescribe how much each should 
give according to his means ; and when he had made up the 
sum required, he brought the man who wanted it to those who 
contributed, and made them pay it to the person himself, in 
order that he, into whose hands the sum passed, might know to 
whom he was indebted, and how much to each. 

His indifference to money was put to the proof by Diomedon 
of Cyzicus ; for he, at the request of Artaxerxes, had under- 
taken to bribe Epaminondas. He accordingly came to Thebes 
with a large sum in gold, and, by a present of five talents, 
brought over Micythus, a young man for whom Epaminondas 
had then a great affection, to further his views. Micythus went 
to Epaminondas, and told him the cause of Diomedon's comiug. 
But Epaminondas, in the presence of Diomedon, said to him, 
"There is no need of money in the matter ; for if what the king 
desires is for the good of the Thebans, I am ready to do it for 
nothing ; but if otherwise, he has not gold and silver enough 
to move me, for I would not accept the riches of the whole 
world in exchange for my love for my country. At you, who 
have made trial of me without knowing my character, and have 
thought me like yourself, I do not wonder ; and I forgive you ; 
but quit the city at once, lest you should corrupt others though 
you have been unable to corrupt me. You, Micythus, give 
Diomedon his money back ; or, unless you do so immediately, 
I shall give you up to the magistrates." Diomedon entreating 
that he might be allowed to depart in safety, and carry away 
with him what he had brought, "That," he replied, "I will 
grant you, and not for your sake, but for my own, lest any one, 
if your money should be taken from you, should say that what 
I would not receive when offered me, had come into my pos- 
session after being taken out of yours." Epaminondas then 
asking Diomedon "whither he wished to be conducted," and 
Diomedon having answered, "To Athens," he gave him a guard 
in order that he might reach that city in safety. Nor did he, 
indeed, think that precaution sufficient, but also arranged, with 



B. C. 106-43.] MARCUS TTJLLIUS CICERO. 377 

the aid of Chabrias the Athenian, that he should embark with- 
out molestation. Of his freedom from covetousness this will 
be a sufficient proof. 

He was also an able speaker, so that no Theban was a match 
for him in eloquence ; nor was his language less pointed in 
brief replies than elegant in a continued speech. His elo- 
quence shone most at Sparta (when he was ambassador before 
the battle of Leuctra), where, when the ambassadors from all 
the allies had met, Epaminondas, in a full assembly of the 
embassies, so clearly exposed the tyranny of the Lacedaemo- 
nians, that he shook their power by that speech not less than 
by the battle of Leuctra ; for he was at that time the cause (as 
it afterwards appeared) that they were deprived of the support 
of their allies. 

When, towards the close of his career, he was commander at 
Mantinea, and, pressing very boldly upon the enemy with his 
army in full array, was recognized by the Lacedaemonians, they 
directed their efforts in a body against him alone, because they 
thought the salvation of their country depended upon his de- 
struction, nor did they fall back, until, after shedding much 
blood, and killing many of the enemy, they saw Epaminondas 
himself, while fighting most valiantly, fall wounded with a spear 
hurled from a distance. By his fall the Boeotians were some- 
what disheartened ; yet they did not quit the field till they had 
put to flight those opposed to them. As for Epaminondas 
himself, when he found that he had received a mortal wound, 
and also that if he drew out the iron head of the dart, which 
had stuck in his body, he would instantly die, he kept it in 
until it was told him that "the Boeotians were victorious." 
When he heard these words, he said, "I have lived long 
enough; for I die unconquered." The iron head being then 
extracted, he immediately died. 



MARCUS TULLIUS CICERO. 
106—43 b. o. 

This most distinguished of all the Romans, not as an orator only, in 
which character he is more generally known, hut as a philosopher, a 
critic, a general scholar, and a statesman, was borri on the 3d of 
January, 106 B. C. His father, whose name he bore, was a member 

32* 



378 MARCUS TULLIUS CICERO. [B. C. 106-43. 

of the equestrian order, and lived in easy circumstances near Arpi- 
num ; but little after the middle of life he removed to Rome for the 
purpose of educating his sons, Marcus and Quintus. The very best 
teacbers were procured for them, without regard to expense, among 
whom was the celebrated poet Archias, of Antioch, whom Cicero in 
after years defended against the charge of illegally assuming citizen- 
ship, in an oration of surpassing eloquence and beauty; and paying 
to his early teacher a most glowing tribute of affection and gratitude. 

In his sixteenth year Cicero received his manly gown, and entered 
the forum to listen to the speakers of the bar, as his father designed 
him for the legal profession. From this period more than seven years 
elapsed before he made his appearance as a public man, wholly devot- 
ing this time — even during the bloody struggles between Marius and 
Sylla — with indefatigable perseverance to those studies which were 
essential to his success as a lawyer and orator. He also attended the 
lectures of many of the Greek philosophers and rhetoricians, who had 
fled to Rome when Athens was invaded by the troops of Mithridates. 
During those years he wrote his treatise De Inventione Rhetorica, his 
poem Marius, and translated the (Economics of Xenophon. 

When tranquillity was restored by the final discomfiture of the 
Marian party, and the business of the forum was resumed, Cicero came 
forward as a public pleader, and at once commanded the admiration 
of his countrymen, not only for his eloquence, but as a protector of 
the oppressed and the fearless champion of innocence, daring even to 
come into collision with the tyrant Sylla, in a case where he knew 
that his client was the injured party. But his health now becoming 
so feeble as to excite the alarm of his friends, he was persuaded to go 
abroad. Accordingly he went to Athens, where he spent six months 
in studying and hearing the lectures of different philosophers ; then 
he made a complete tour of Asia Minor, passed over into Rhodes, and 
returned to Rome after two years' absence, with his health firmly 
established, and his mind stored with learning and wisdom. His 
transcendent natural talents, developed by such elaborate and judi- 
cious training under the most celebrated masters, stimulated by 
burning zeal and sustained by indomitable perseverance, could hardly 
fail to command success. Accordingly his merits were soon discerned 
and appreciated ; he forthwith took his station in the foremost rank 
of judicial orators, and ere long stood alone in acknowledged pre- 
eminence. 

Cicero had now reached the age of thirty, when he offered himself 
for the office of Quaestor, and was elected. The island of Sicily was 
allotted to him, and he discharged the duties of his office for two 



B. C. 106-43.] MARCUS TULLIUS CICERO. 319 

years with such singular skill, justice, and integrity, that the Sicilians 
paid him unusual honors. Some time after his return he conducted 
the impeachment preferred against Verres for misgovernment and 
complicated oppression, by the Sicilians, whom he had ruled as Prsetor 
for the space of three years. The pleadings in this case form, perhaps, 
the proudest monument of Cicero's oratorical powers, exhibiting an 
extraordinary combination of genius, industry, and brilliant oratory, 
with minute accuracy of inquiry and detail. 

At the close of the year 67 B. C, when he was thirty-nine, he was 
elected first Praetor by the suffrages of all the centuries. Being thus 
called on to preside in the highest civil court, he discharged his duties 
with marked ability and justice, and won the praise of all. The highest 
of all offices — the consulship — he kept steadily in view, and in four 
years he was triumphantly elected to it, notwithstanding he had many 
and powerful competitors. It may be doubted whether any individual 
ever rose to power by more virtuous and truly honorable conduct ; 
and the integrity of his public life was only equalled by the purity of 
his private morals. During his consulship Catiline plotted that infa- 
mous conspiracy which would have brought ruin to Rome had it not 
been for the consummate courage, prudence, caution, and decision 
manifested throughout by Cicero, under circumstances the most deli- 
cate and embarrassing. His fortune had now reached its culminating 
point of prosperity and glory ; it remained so for a short space of time, 
and then rapidly declined and sunk. 

Cicero's consulate was succeeded by the return of Pompey from the 
east, and the establishment of the First Triumvirate of Csesar, Pompey, 
and Crassus (B. C. 60), which disappointed his hopes of political 
greatness, and induced him to resume his forensic and literary labors. 
Soon after this, the infamous Clodius, who had been elected to the 
tribuneship, and against whom Cicero had, years before, appeared as 
a witness in a case of gross immorality, proposed a bill for the banish- 
ment of Cicero for the part he took in having Catiline and the con- 
spirators put to death "untried," as stated in the bill. Here the great 
orator committed a fatal mistake. Instead of taking the bold front of 
conscious innocence, he changed his attire, assumed the garb of one 
accused, and went round the forum soliciting the compassion of all 
whom he met. But all to no purpose : and being forced into exile, he 
went to Greece, and took up his residence in Thessalonica. It is sad 
to see how this event, which he might justly consider as one of the 
most glorious of his life, filled him with the utmost distress and 
despondency. He wandered about Greece bewailing his miserable 
fortune, refusing the consolations which his friends attempted to 



380 MARCUS TULLIUS CICERO. [b. C. 106-43. 

administer, and shunning the public honors with which the Greek 
cities were eager to load him ; and his correspondence, during the 
whole of this period, presents the melancholy picture of a mind 
crushed and paralyzed by a sudden reverse of fortune. "Never did 
divine philosophy fail more signally in procuring comfort or consola- 
tion to her votary.'" 

The next year a bill passed the senate for Cicero's recall, and he 
returned to Rome amid the congratulations and rejoicings of the citi- 
zens. But his position was entirely changed, his spirit was broken, 
and his self-respect destroyed. The vacillating course which he took 
with the Triumviri, now favoring one, and now another, consenting to 
praise those actions which he once condemned, we cannot but deeply 
lament ; yet he employed his leisure hours in the composition of his 
two great political works, the De Republica and the De Legibus. About 
five years after his return from exile he was appointed governor of 
Cilicia, and he discharged the duties of his office with great disinter- 
estedness and integrity, and received from the inhabitants the warmest 
demonstrations of love and gratitude. He returned to Rome in Jan- 
uary, B. C. 49, at the very moment when the civil strife, which had 
been smouldering so long, was bursting forth into the blaze of war. 
His vacillating and timid conduct on this occasion, his utter want of 
firmness, either moral or physical, exhibit him in a most painful and 
humiliating light. At first he was disposed, both from habit and con- 
viction, to follow Pompey ; afterwards he debated whether it would 
not be best quietly to submit to Caesar. At last, after many lingering 
delays, he decided to pass over into Greece and join Pompey 's stand- 
ard. After the battle of Pharsalia (August 9, B. C. 48) he withdrew 
to Achaia, and thence went to Brundusium, where he remained nearly 
a year in great suspense and torture, awaiting the pleasure of the 
conqueror, whom he had so offended and deceived. At length he 
received a letter from Caesar, in which he promised to forget the past, 
and be the same as he ever had been — a promise which he amply 
redeemed ; for, on Cicero's arrival at Rome, Caesar greeted him with 
frank cordiality, and treated him ever after with the utmost respect 
and kindness. 

Cicero was now at liberty to follow his own pursuits without inter- 
ruption, and accordingly, until the death of Caesar, he devoted himself 
with exclusive assiduity to literary labors, and during these three 
years nearly the whole of his important works on rhetoric and philo- 

1 "For there -was never yet philosopher, 

That could endure the toothache patiently." 

ATuch Ado about Nothing, Act v. Scene i. 



B. C. 106-43.] MARCUS TULLIUS CICERO. 381 

sophy were arranged and published. But the state of his private 
affairs gave him great pain and perplexity. He felt compelled to 
divorce his wife Terentia, a woman of most violent temper, and who, 
by her extravagance, had contributed no little to his present pecuniary 
embarrassments. Soon after he married his ward Publilia, a young 
and wealthy maiden, but found little comfort in this new alliance, 
which was speedily dissolved. But his great and overpowering afflic- 
tion was the death of his beloved daughter Tullia (early in B. C. 45), 
to whom he was most tenderly attached; and his grief for a time 
seemed so violent as almost to affect his mind. 

The tumults excited by Antony after the murder of Caesar (B. C. 44) 
compelled the leading conspirators to disperse in different directions, 
and Cicero, feeling that his own position was not free from danger, set 
out upon a journey to Greece. But he was persuaded to return in the 
beginning of the year 43 B. C, when Antony had quitted the city, and 
for four months he was in the height of his glory, for in this time the 
last twelve " Philippics" were all delivered, and listened to with rap- 
turous applause. But the fatal unioH of Rome's three most precious 
scoundrels, Antony, Lepidus, and Octavianus, forming the second Tri- 
umvirate, took place on the 27th of November of this year, and Cicero, 
of course, was among the list of the proscribed. He endeavored to 
escape by sea, at the earnest entreaty of his friends, and had actually 
embarked at Antium ; but a storm obliged the vessel to put back. 
Antony's soldiers had been scouring the country in pursuit of him, 
and at length overtook him as he was conveyed in a litter by a few 
faithful attendants. They set down the litter, and were preparing to 
defend him with their lives, when Cicero commanded them to desist ; 
and, leaning out his neck, called upon his executioners to strike. They 
instantly cut off his head and hands, and conveyed them to Rome, 
where, by the orders of Antony, they were nailed to the Rostra, after 
the wife of the foul triumvir had, horrid to relate, first taken the 
head in her lap, pulled out the tongue, and pierced it through with 
her bodkin. 1 

Thus died the greatest, by far the greatest man Rome ever saw. 
True he had his weaknesses and his foibles and faults — and who has 
not ? — but take him all in all, for his eloquence, for his learning, for 
his true patriotism, for the profound and ennobling views he has left 
us in his critical, oratorical, and philosophical writings, as well as for 

For a more minute .and a most interesting account of this whole trans- 
action, read Middleton's Life of Cicero, three volumes, one of the most 
valuable and instructive pieces of biography in our language. 



382 MARCUS TULLIUS CICERO. [b. c. 106-43. 

his purity in all the domestic relations of life, in the midst of almost 
universal profligacy, he stands forth upon the page of history as one 
of the very brightest names the ancients have left us. 

The works of Cicero, so numerous and diversified, may be arranged 
under five separate heads : 1. Philosophical Works. 2. Speeches. 3. 
Correspondence. 4. Poems. 5. Historical and Miscellaneous Works. 
The following are the most important : — 

First, his Philosophical Works. 1. De Inventione Rhetorica, "On the 
Rhetorical Art ;" intended to exhibit, in a compendious form, all that 
was most valuable in the works of the Grecian rhetoricians. 2. De 
Partitione Oratoria Dialogus, "A Dialogue on the several Divisions of 
Rhetoric," a sort of catechism of rhetoric. 3. De Oratore, 1 "On the 
True Orator," a systematic work on the art of oratory. This is one of 
his most brilliant efforts, and so accurately finished in its minute 
parts, that it may be regarded as a masterpiece of skill in all that 
relates to the graces of style and composition. 4. Brutus : de claris 
Oratoribus. 2 This is in the form of a dialogue, and contains a com- 
plete critical history of Roman eloquence. 5. Orator, 3 "The Orator," 
addressed to Marcus Brutus, giving his views as to what constitutes a 
perfect orator. 6. De Republica, "On the Republic," in six books, 
designed to show the best form of government and the duty of the 
citizen ; but a considerable portion of this is lost. 7. De Officiis: x a 
treatise on moral obligations, viewed not so much with reference to a 
metaphysical investigation of the basis on which they rest, as to the 
practical business of the world, and the intercourse of social and poli- 
tical life. This is one of his most precious legacies. 8. De Finibus 
Bonorum et 3falorum, 5 "On the Ends of Good and Evil," a series of 
dialogues dedicated to M. Brutus, in which the opinions of the Grecian 
schools, especially of the Epicureans, the Stoics, and the Peripatetics, 
on the Supreme Good, the Summum Bonum, that is, the finis, "the 
end" or object towards which all our thoughts, desires, and actions 
are or ought to be directed, are expounded, compared, and discussed. 

1 The most useful editions of De Oratore are those by Pearce, Cambridge 
and London, 1795 ; by Wetzel, Brunswick, ] 79-4 ; by Harles, with the notes 
of Pearce and others, Leipsic, 1816 ; 0. M. Miiller, Leipsic, 1819, 8vo. 

2 The best edition of Brutus is that by Ellendt, with copious and useful 
prolegomena, Kb'nnigsburg, 1826, 8vo. The useful school edition by Biller- 
beck, Hanover, 1828, may also be mentioned. 

3 The best edition of the Orator is that by Meyer, Leipsic, 1827, 8vo. 
Billerbeck has also published a good school edition. 

4 Editions : Gernhard, Leipsic, 8vo., 1S11 ; Beier, two volumes, Svo., 
Leipsic, 1820-21. 

5 Editions: Otto, Leipsic, 8vo., 1831;- Madvig, Copenhagen, 8vo., 1839. 
This is considered the best. 



B. 0. 106-43.] MARCUS TULLIUS CICERO. 383 

9. Cato Major, De Senectute, 1 "On Old Age," written to point out how 
the burden of old age may be most easily supported. This piece has 
always been deservedly esteemed as one of the most graceful moral 
essays bequeathed to us by antiquity. 2 10. Lselius, de Amicitia, 3 "On 
Friendship," in which he explains his own sentiments with regard to 
the origin, nature, limits, and value of friendship; traces its connec- 
tion with the higher moral virtues, and lays down the rules which 
ought to be observed in order to render it permanent and mutually 
advantageous. 11. Tusculanx Qusestionee,* " Tusculan Questions," a 
series of discussions, in five books, held at his Tusculan villa, on 
various important points of practical philosophy ; such as the nature 
of death, the immortality of the soul, the duty of enduring pain and 
being insensible to sorrow, &c. 12. De Natura Deorum, 5 "On the 
Nature of the Gods," in three books, in which the speculations of the 
Epicureans and the Stoics on the existence, attributes, and providence 
of a Divine Being are stated and discussed at length. 

Second, Speeches. The orations which Cicero is known to have 
composed amount in all to about eighty, of which fifty-nine, either 
entire or in part, are preserved. To give an account of each of these 
would altogether exceed our limits. Some of them are deliberative, 
others judicial, others descriptive ; some were delivered from the 
rostrum or in the senate ; others in the forum or before Caesar, and all 
in a style of surpassing grace and beauty, showing a command over 
his native tongue, a richness of imagination, a brilliancy of wit, and 
powers of argument, found in but very few. The most celebrated 
of these are his four orations against Catiline, his Philippics against 
Antony, his laudatory orations for the Manilian Law, for Marcellus, 
and for Archias the poet, and his skilful, argumentative oration for 
Milo. 6 

Third, Correspondence. The number of Cicero's letters that have 
been preserved amount to four hundred and twenty-six, of which 
three hundred and ninety-six are addressed to Atticus. Greece can 

1 Editions: Gernhard, Leipsic, 8vo., 1819; Otto, Leipsic, 1830. 

3 Read, in connection, Mrs. Sigourney's charming book, "Past Meridian." 

3 Editions: Gernhard, Leipsic, 8vo., 1825; Beier, Leipsic, 12mo., 1828. 

4 Editions : Orelli, enriched with a collection of the best commentaries, 
Zurich, 8vo., 1829; Kiihner, Jenae, 8vo., 1835; Moser, Hanover, 3 vols. 
8vo., 1836-37, which is the most complete of any. 

6 The edition of Moser and Creuzer, 8vo., Leipsic, 1818, is now regarded as 
the best. 

G An excellent edition of his Speeches is that of Klotz, Leipsic, 1835, 3 
vols. 8vo., with excellent introductions and annotations in the German lan- 
guage. The number of editions of Cicero's "Select Orations" is almost 
innumerable. 



384 MARCUS TTJLLIUS CICERO. [b. c. 106-43. 

furnish us with more profound philosophy than Rome, and with supe- 
rior oratory ; but the ancient world has left us nothing that can sup- 
ply the place of these letters. For their rich and varied and graceful 
style, now argumentative and now witty and playful ; for the ample 
materials which they supply for a history of the Roman constitution 
during its last struggles, giving us a deep insight into the character 
and motives of the chief leaders ; and as affording a complete key to 
the character of Cicero himself, their value is altogether inestimable. 1 
Fourth, Poetical Works. The less that is said of these effusions the 
better. Most of them belong to his earlier years, and were written 
for his own improvement or amusement, for when his powers were 
more mature, his public duties did not give him time for the cultiva- 
tion of the muses. Not much more can be said, fifthly, of his Histo- 
rical Works. His (Economics of Xenophon, of which but a few frag- 
ments remain, was properly not so much a close translation as an 
adaptation of the treatise of Xenophon to the wants and habits of the 
Romans. 2 

INVECTIVE AGAINST CATILINE. 

How long, O Catiline, wilt thou abuse our patience ? How 
long shalt thou baffle justice in thy mad career ? To what ex- 
treme wilt thou carry thy audacity ? Art thou nothing daunted 
by the nightly watch, posted to secure the Palatium ? Nothing, 
by the city guards ? Nothing, by the rally of all good citizens ? 
Nothing, by the assembling of the senate in this fortified place ? 
Nothing, by the averted looks of all here present ? Seest thou 
not that all thy plots are exposed ?— that thy wretched con- 
spiracy is laid bare to every man's knowledge, here in the 
Senate? — that we are well aware of thy proceedings of last 
night ; of the night before ; the place of meeting, the com- 
pany convoked, the measures concerted ? Alas, the times ! 
Alas, the public morals ! The senate understands all this. 
The Consul sees it. Yet the traitor lives ! Lives ? Ay, 
truly, and confronts us here in council ; takes part in our de- 

1 The most useful edition of Cicero's Letters is that of Schiitz, Halle, 
1809-12. in 6 vols. 8vo., containing the whole of the Epistles, except those 
to Brutus, arranged in chronological order, and illustrated with explanatory 
notes. 

2 The best editions of the whole works of Cicero are to be found in Valpey's 
Latin Classics, London, in 159 vols., of which Cicero is comprised in 20 vols.; 
and in Lemaire's edition of the Latin authors, Paris, called Bibliotheca 
Classica Latiiia; also, Schiitz's edition, in 20 vols, small Svo., Leipsic : 
and Orelli's, Turin, 1826-1837, 9 vols. 8vo. 



B. C. 106-43.] MARCUS TULLIUS CICERO. 385 

liberations ; and, with his measuring eye, marks out each man 
of us for slaughter! And we, all this while, strenuous that 
we are, think we have amply discharged our duty to the State, 
if we but shun this madman's sword and fury 1 

Long since, Catiline, ought the Consul to have ordered 
thee to execution, and brought upon thy own head the ruin 
thou hast been meditating against others ! There was that 
virtue once in Rome, that a wicked citizen was held more exe- 
crable than the deadliest foe. We have a law still, Catiline, 
for thee. Think not that we are powerless because forbearing. 
We have a decree — though it rests among our archives like a 
sword in its scabbard — a decree by which thy life would be 
made to pay the forfeit of thy crimes. And, should I order 
thee to be instantly seized and put to death, I make just doubt 
whether all good men would not think it done rather too late, 
than any man too cruelly. But, for good reasons, I will yet 
defer the blow, long since deserved. Then will I doom thee, 
when no man is found so lost, so wicked, nay, so like thyself, 
but shall confess that it was justly dealt. While there is one 
man that dares defend thee, live ! But thou shalt live so beset, 
so surrounded, so scrutinized, by the vigilant guards that I 
have placed around thee, that thou shalt not stir a foot against 
the Republic without my knowledge. There shall be eyes to 
detect thy slightest movement, and ears to catch thy wariest 
whisper, of which thou shalt not dream. The darkness of 
night shall not cover thy treason — the walls of privacy shall 
not stifle its voice. Baffled on all sides, thy most secret coun- 
sels clear as noonday, what canst thou now have in view ? 
Proceed, plot, conspire, as thou wilt ; there is nothing you can 
contrive, nothing you can propose, nothing you can attempt, 
which I shall not know, hear, and promptly understand. Thou 
shalt soon be made aware that I am even more active in pro- 
viding for the preservation of the State, than thou in plotting 
its destruction ! 

First Oration. 



EXPULSION OF CATILINE FROM ROME. 

At length, Romans, we are rid of Catiline ! We have driven 
him forth, drunk with fury, breathing mischief, threatening to 
revisit us with fire and sword. He is gone ; he is fled ; he has 
escaped ; he has broken away. No longer, within the very walls 
of the city, shall he plot her ruin. We have forced him from 
33 



386 MARCUS TULLIUS CICERO. [b. c. 106-43. 

secret plots into open rebellion. The bad citizen is now the 
avowed traitor. His flight is the confession of his treason ! 
Would that his attendants had not been so few ! Be speedy, 
ye companions of his dissolute pleasures; be speedy, and you 
may overtake him before night, on the Aurelian road. Let him 
not languish, deprived of your society. Haste to join the con- 
genial crew that compose his army ; his army, I say — for who 
doubts that the army under Manlius expect Catiline for their 
leader ? And such an army ! Outcasts from honor, and fugi- 
tives from debt ; gamblers and felons ; miscreants, whose dreams 
are of rapine, murder, and conflagration ! 

Against these gallant troops of your adversary, prepare, 
Romans, your garrisons and armies ; and first to that maimed 
and battered gladiator oppose your consuls and generals ; next, 
against that miserable, outcast horde, lead forth the strength 
and flower of all Italy ! On the one side, chastity contends ; 
on the other wantonness ; here purity, there pollution ; here 
integrity, there treachery ; here piety, there profaneuess; here 
constancy, there rage ; here honesty, there baseness ; here con- 
tinence, there lust ; in short, equity, temperance, fortitude, 
prudence, struggle with iniquity, luxury, cowardice, rashness ; 
every virtue with every vice ; and, lastly, the contest lies be- 
tween well-grounded hope and absolute despair. In such a con- 
flict, were even human aid to fail, would not the immortal gods 
empower such conspicuous virtue to triumph over such com- 
plicated vice ? 

Second Oration. 



THE TYRANT PR.ETOR, VERRES, DENOUNCED. 

An opinion has long prevailed, fathers, that, in public prose- 
cutions, men of wealth, however clearly convicted, are always 
safe. This opinion, so injurious to your order, so detrimental 
to the State, it is now in your power to refute. A man is on 
trial before you who is rich, and who hopes his riches will 
compass his acquittal ; but whose life and actions are his suffi- 
cient condemnation in the eyes of all candid men. I speak of 
Caius Verres, who, if he now receive not the sentence his crimes 
deserve, it shall not be through the lack of a criminal or of a 
prosecutor, but through the failure of the ministers of justice 
to do their duty. Passing over the shameful irregularities of 
his youth, what does the quaastorship of Yerres exhibit but 
one continued scene of villanies ? The public treasure squan- 



B. C. 106-43.] MARCUS TULLIUS CICERO. 387 

clcred, a consul stripped and betrayed, an army deserted and 
reduced to want, a province robbed, the civil and religious 
rights of a people trampled on ! But his prcetorship in Sicily 
has crowned his career of wickedness, and completed the last- 
ing monument of his infamy. His decisions have violated all 
law, all precedent, all right. His extortions from the indus- 
trious poor have been beyond computation. Our most faithful 
allies have been treated as enemies. Roman citizens have, like 
slaves, been put to death with tortures. Men the most worthy 
have been condemned and banished without a hearing, while 
the most atrocious criminals have, with money, purchased ex- 
emption from the punishment due to their guilt. 

I ask now, Yerres, what have you to advance against these 
charges ? Art thou not the tyrant prostor, who, at no greater 
distance than Sicily, within sight of the Italian coast, dared to 
put to an infamous death, on the cross, that ill-fated and inno- 
cent citizen, Publius Gavius Cosanus ? And what was his 
offence ? He had declared his intention of appealing to the 
justice of his country against your brutal persecutions ! For 
this, when about to embark for home, he was seized, brought 
before you, charged with being a spy, scourged and tortured. 
In vain did he exclaim: "I am a Roman citizen! I have 
served under Lucius Pretius, who is now at Panormus, and 
who will attest my innocence !" Deaf to all remonstrance, 
remorseless, thirsting for innocent blood, you ordered the 
savage punishment to be inflicted ! While the sacred words, 
11 1 am a Roman citizen," were on his lips — words which, in 
the remotest regions, are a passport to protection — you ordered 
him to death, to a death upon the cross ! 

O liberty ! sound once delightful to every Roman ear ! 
sacred privilege of Roman citizenship ! once sacred — now 
trampled on ! Is it come to this ? Shall an inferior magis- 
trate — a governor, who holds his whole power of the Roman 
people — in a Roman province, within sight of Italy, bind, 
scourge, torture, and put to an infamous death, a Roman citi- 
zen ? Shall neither the cries of innocence expiring in agony, 
the tears of pitying spectators, the majesty of the Roman com- 
monwealth, nor the fear of the justice of his country, restrain 
the merciless monster, who, in the confidence of his riches, 
strikes at the very root of liberty, and sets mankind at defiance ? 
And shall this man escape ? Fathers, it must not be ! It 
must not be, unless you would undermine the very foundations 
of social safety, strangle justice, and call down anarchy, mas- 
sacre, and ruin on the commonwealth. 

Oration against Verves. 



388 MARCUS TULLIUS CICERO. [b. 0. 106-43. 



ADVANTAGES OF AGE. 1 

Indeed, old age is so far from being necessarily a state of 
languor and inactivity, that it generally continues to exert itself 
in that sort of occupation which was the favorite object of its 
pursuit in more vigorous years. I will add, that instances 
might be produced of men who, in this period of life, have 
successfully applied themselves even to the acquisition of some 
art or science to which they were before entirely strangers. 
Thus Solon in one of his poems, written when he was advanced 
in years, glories that "he learnt something every day he lived." 2 
And old as I myself am, it is but lately that I acquired a 
knowledge of the Greek language ; to which I applied with 
the more zeal and diligence, as I had long entertained an 
earnest desire of becoming acquainted with the writings and 
characters of those excellent men, to whose examples I have 
occasionally appealed in the course of our present conversa- 
tion. Thus Socrates, too, in his old age, learnt to play upon 
the lyre ; an art which the aucients did not deem unworthy of 
their application. If I have not followed the philosopher's 
example in this instance (which, indeed, I very much regret), 
I have spared, however, no pains to make myself master of 
the Greek language and learning. 

Inestimable, too, are the advantages of old age, if we con- 
template it in another point of view ; if we consider it as de- 
livering us from the tyranny of lust and ambition ; from the 
angry and contentious passions ; from every inordinate and 
irrational desire ; in a word, as teaching us to retire within 
ourselves, and look for happiness in our own bosoms. If to 

1 This extract, and the two following, are taken from his Cato, or an 
Essay on Old Age. The chief speaker is the venerahle Cato, and the per- 
sons whom he addresses are Scipio, the son of the celebrated Paulus Mmx- 
lius, and Lselius, the son of Caius La?lius, the friend and companion of P. 
Cornelius Scipio Africanus. 

2 Solon was a poet, as well as a legislator. In the earlier part of his life 
he seems to hare devoted his muse to the tender passion; but, as more sober 
years advanced, his compositions took a graver turn. Accordingly, he not 
only published several didactic and political poems, but also drew up a sys- 
tem of his laws in metre. The truth is, the human mind is never stationary ; 
when it is not progressive, it is necessarily retrograde. He who imagines, at 
any period of his life, that he can advance no farther in moral or intellectual 
improvements, is as little acquainted with the extent of his own powers as 
the ancient voyager was with that of the terrestrial globe, who supposed 
he had erected pillars at the end of the world, when he had only left a 
monument how much farther he might have proceeded. 



B. C. 106-43.] MARCUS TULLIUS CICERO. 389 

these moral benefits naturally resulting from length of days, 
be added that sweet food of the mind which is gathered in the 
fields of science, I know not any season of life that is passed 
more agreeably than the learned leisure of a virtuous old age. 



ON THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 

And now, among the different sentiments of the philosophers 
concerning the consequences of our final dissolution, may I 
not venture to declare my own ? and the rather, as the nearer 
death advances towards me, the more clearly I seem to discern 
its real nature. 

I am well convinced, then, that my dear departed friends, 
your two illustrious fathers, 1 are so far from having ceased to 
live, that the state they now enjoy can alone with propriety be 
called life. The soul, during her confinement within this prison 
of the body, is doomed by fate to undergo a severe penance ; 
for her native seat is in heaven, and it is with reluctance that 
she is forced down from those celestial mansions into these 
lower regions, where all is foreign and repugnant to her divine 
nature. But the gods, I am persuaded, have thus widely dis- 
seminated immortal spirits, and clothed them with human 
bodies, that there might be a race of intelligent creatures, not 
only to have dominion over this our earth, but to contemplate 
the host of heaven, and imitate in their moral conduct the same 
beautiful order and uniformity so conspicuous in those splendid 
orbs. This opinion I am induced to embrace, not only as 
agreeable to the best deductions of reason, but in just defer- 
ence, also, to the authority of the noblest and most distinguished 
philosophers. And 1 am further confirmed in my belief of the 
soul's immortality, by the discourse which Socrates — whom the 
oracle of Apollo pronounced to be the wisest of men — held 
upon this subject just before his death. In a word, when I 
consider the faculties with which the human mind is endued; 
its amazing celerity; its wonderful power in recollecting past 
events, and sagacity in discerning future ; together with its 
numberless discoveries in the several arts and sciences, I feel a 
conscious conviction that this active, comprehensive principle 
cannot possibly be of a mortal nature. And as this unceasing 
activity of the soul derives its energy from its own intrinsic 
and essential powers, without receiving it from any foreign or 

1 See note on preceding page. 

33* 



390 MARCUS TULLIUS CICERO. [b. c. 106-43. 

external impulse, it necessarily follows (as it is absurd to sup- 
pose the soul would desert itself) that this activity must con- 
tinue forever. But farther ; as the soul is evidently a simple, 
uncompounded substance, without any dissimilar parts or 
heterogeneous mixture, it cannot, therefore, be divided ; con- 
sequently, it cannot perish. I might add, that the facility and 
expedition with which youth are taught to acquire numberless 
very difficult arts, is a strong presumption that the soul pos- 
sessed a considerable portion of knowledge before it entered 
into the human form, and that what seems to be received from 
instruction is, in fact, no other than a reminiscence or recollec- 
tion of its former ideas. This, at least, is the opinion of Plato. 



CICERO'S PROSPECTS OP A FUTURE LIFE. 

For my own part, I feel myself transported with the most 
ardent impatience to join the society of my two departed friends, 
your illustrious fathers ; whose characters I greatly respected, 
and whose persons I sincerely loved. Nor is this, my earnest 
desire, confined to those excellent persons alone with whom I 
was formerly connected ; I ardently wish to visit also those 
celebrated worthies, of whose honorable conduct I have heard 
and read much, or whose virtues I have myself commemorated 
in some of my writings. 1 To this glorious assembly I am 
speedily advancing, and I would not be turned back in my 
journey, even upon the assured condition that my youth, like 
that of Pelias, should again be restored. The sincere truth is, 
if some divinity would confer upon me a new grant of my life, 
and replace me once more in the cradle, I would utterly, and 
without the least hesitation, reject the offer ; having well nigh 
finished my race, I have no inclination to return to the goal. 
For what has life to recommend it? Or rather, indeed, to 
what evils does it not expose us ? But admit that its satisfac- 
tions are many, yet surely there is a time when we have had a 
sufficient measure of its enjoyments, and may well depart con- 
tented with our share of the feast ; for I mean not, in imitation 
of some very considerable philosophers, to represent the con- 

1 It seems to have strongly entered into the expectations of those eminent 
sages of antiquity who embraced the doctrine of the soul's immortality, that 
the felicity of the next life will partly arise, not only from a renewal of those 
virtuous connections which have been formed in the present, but from con- 
versing at large with that whole glorious assembly, whom the poet hath so 
justly brought together in his description of the mansions of the blest. 



B. C. 106-43.] MARCUS TULLIUS CICERO. 391 

dition of human nature as a subject of just lamentation. 1 On 
the contrary, I am far from regretting that life was bestowed 
upon me, as I have the satisfaction to think that I have em- 
ployed it in such a manner as not to have lived in vain. In 
short, I consider this world as a place which nature never de- 
signed for my permanent abode ; and I look upon my departure 
out of it, not as being driven from my habitation, but as leav- 
ing my inn. 

O glorious day ! when I shall retire from this low and sordid 
scene, to associate with the divine assembly of departed spirits! 
Thus to think, and thus to aat, has rendered my old age not 
only no inconvenient state to me, but even an agreeable one. 
And after all, should this, my firm persuasion of the soul's im- 
mortality, prove to be a mere delusion, it is at least a pleasing 
delusion, and I will cherish it to my latest breath. 3 



THE NECESSITY OF A FRIEND. 

Good gods ! is there a man upon the face of the earth, who 
would deliberately accept of all the wealth and all the affluence 
this world can bestow, if offered to him upon the severe terms 
of his being unconnected with a single mortal whom he could 
love, or by whom he should be beloved? This would be to 
lead the wretched life of a detested tyrant, who, amidst perpe- 
tual suspicions and alarms, passes his miserable days a stranger 

' Philosophy can never "be employed in an office more unsuitable to her 
proper character and functions, than in setting forth such representations of 
human life as tend to put mankind out of humor with their present being ; 
and yet into this unworthy service some eminent moralists, both ancient and 
modern, have not scrupled to compel her! The genuine effects of true wis- 
dom and .knowledge are altogether of a different complexion ; as those specu- 
lative writers whose studies and talents have qualified them for taking the 
most accurate and comprehensive survey of the natural and moral world, 
have found the result of their inquiries terminate in the strongest motives 
for a grateful acquiescence in the beneficent administration of providence. 

The truth is, the natural evils of life are but few and inconsiderable when 
compared with those which are of man's own production. Pain and disease, 
which now make such a variety of dreadful articles in every estimate of 
human calamities, would scarcely appear to exist, if the contributions of vice 
and luxury were fairly subtracted from the account. — Melmoth. 

2 This essay, written but a few years before his death, and almost the very 
last act he exerted in his philosophical character, may be considered as an 
explicit and unambiguous profession of his belief of the soul's separate exist- 
ence in a future state. And if, after so positive a declaration of his being 
convinced of the truth of this important doctrine, the sincerity of his faith 
might nevertheless be called in question, hard indeed would he have found 
the task to give his inquisitors satisfaction. — Melmoth. 



392 MARCUS TULLIES CICERO. [b. c. 106-43. 

to every tender sentiment, and utterly precluded from the heart- 
felt satisfactions of friendship. For who can love the man he 
fears? or how can affection dwell with a consciousness of being 
feared? He may be flattered, indeed, by his followers with the 
specious semblance of personal attachment : but whenever he 
falls (and many instances there are of such a reverse of fortune) 
it will appear how totally destitute he stood of every genuine 
friend. Accordingly it is reported that Tarquin used to say, 
in his exile, that "his misfortunes had taught him to discern 
his real from his pretended friends, as it was now no longer in 
his power to make either of them»any returns." I should much 
wonder, however, if, with a temper so insolent and ferocious, 
he ever had a sincere friend. 



THE OFFICES OF FRIENDSHIP. 

The offices of friendship are so numerous, and of such dif- 
ferent kinds, that many little disgusts may arise in the exercise 
of them, which a man of true good sense will either avoid, 
extenuate, or be contented to bear, as the nature and circum- 
stances of the case may render most expedient. But there is 
one particular duty which may frequently occur, and which he 
will at all hazards of offence discharge ; as it is never -to be 
superseded consistently with the truth and fidelity he owes to 
the connection ; I mean the duty of admonishing, and even 
reproving, his friend : an office which, whenever it is affection- 
ately exercised, should be kindly received. It must be con- 
fessed, however, that the remark of my dramatic friend is too 
frequently verified, who observes in his Andria, that "obse- 
quiousness conciliates friends, but truth creates enemies." 
When truth proves the bane of friendship, we may have reason, 
indeed, to be sorry for the unnatural consequence ; but we 
should have cause to be more sorry, if we suffered a friend, by 
a culpable indulgence, to expose his character to just reproach. 
Upon these delicate occasions, however, we should be particu- 
larly careful to deliver our advice, or reproof, without the least 
appearance of acrimony or insult. Let our obsequiousness (to 
repeat the significant expression of Terence) extend as far as 
gentleness of manners, and the rules of good breeding require; 
but far let it be from seducing us to flatter either vice or mis- 
conduct : a meanness unworthy, not only of every man who 
claims to himself the title of friend, but of every liberal and 
ingenuous mind. Shall we live with a friend, upon the same 



B. C. 106-43.] MARCUS TULLIUS CICERO. 393 

cautious terms we must submit to live with a tyrant ? Despe- 
rate indeed must that man's moral disorders be, who shuts his 
ears to the voice of truth, when delivered by a sincere and 
affectionate monitor ! It was a saying of Cato (and he had 
many that well deserve to be remembered) that "some men 
were more obliged to their inveterate enemies, than to their 
complaisant friends ; as they frequently heard the truth from 
the one, but never from the other." In short, the great ab- 
surdity is, that men are apt, in the instances under considera- 
tion, to direct both their dislike and their approbation to the 
wrong object. They hate the admonition, and love the vice : 
whereas they ought, on the contrary, to hate the vice, and love 
the admonition. 



VIRTUE TO BE LOVED AND SOUGHT FOR ITSELF. 

That everything which is honorable is to be sought for its 
own sake, is an opinion common to us with many other schools 
of philosophers. For, except the three sects which exclude 
virtue from the chief good, this opinion must be maintained by 
all philosophers, and above all by us, who do not rank any- 
thing whatever among goods except what is honorable. But 
the defence of this opinion is very easy and simple indeed ; for 
who is there, or who ever was there, of such violent avarice, or 
of such unbridled desires as not infinitely to prefer that any- 
thing which he wishes to acquire, even at the expense of any 
conceivable wickedness, should come into his power without 
crime (even though he had a prospect of perfect impunity), 
than through crime ? and what utility, or what personal ad- 
vantage do we hope for, when we are anxious to know whether 
those bodies are moving whose movements are concealed from 
us, and owing to what causes they revolve through the heavens? 
And who is there that lives according to such clownish maxims, 
or who has so rigorously hardened himself against the study of 
nature, as to be averse to things worthy of being understood, 
and to be indifferent to and disregard such knowledge, merely 
because there is no exact usefulness or pleasure likely to result 
from it? Or, who is there who — when he comes to know the 
exploits, and sayings, and wise counsels of our forefathers, of 
the African!, or of that ancestor of mine whom you are always 
talking of, and of other brave men, and citizens of pre-eminent 
virtue — does not feel his mind affected with. pleasure? and who 
that has been brought up in a respectable family, and educated 



394 MARCUS TULLIUS CICERO. [b. c. 106-43. 

as becomes a freeman, is not offended with baseness as such, 
though it may not be likely to injure him personally? Who 
can keep his equanimity while looking on a man who, he thinks, 
lives in an impure and wicked manner? Who does not hate 
sordid, fickle, unstable, worthless men ? But what shall we be 
able to say (if we do not lay it down that baseness is to be 
avoided for its own sake) is the reason why men do not seek 
darkness and solitude, and then give the rein to every possible 
infamy, except that baseness of itself detects them by reason of 
its own intrinsic foulness? Innumerable arguments may be 
brought forward to support this opinion ; but it is needless, 
for there is nothing which can be less a matter of doubt than 
that what is honorable ought to be sought for its own sake ; and, 
in the same manner, what is disgraceful ought to be avoided. 

But after that point is established, which we have previously 
mentioned, that what is honorable is the sole good ; it must 
unavoidably be understood that that which is honorable, is to 
be valued more highly than those intermediate goods which we 
derive from it. But when we say that folly, and rashness, and 
injustice, and intemperance are to be avoided on account of 
those things which result from them, we do not speak in such 
a manner that our language is at all inconsistent with the posi- 
tion which has been laid down, that that alone is evil which is 
dishonorable. 

De Finibus. 
THE LOVE OF KNOWLEDGE INNATE. 

So vehement a love of knowledge and science is innate in 
us, that no one can doubt that the nature of man is drawn to 
them without being attracted by any external gain. Do we 
not see how boys cannot be deterred even by stripes from the 
consideration and investigation of such and such things ? How, 
though they may be beaten, they still pursue their inquiries, 
and rejoice in having acquired some knowledge ? How they 
delight in telling others what they have learnt? How they are 
attracted by processions, and games, and spectacles of that 
kind, and will endure even hunger and thirst for such an 
object? Can I say no more? Do we not see those who are 
fond of liberal studies and arts regard neither their health nor 
their estate ; and endure everything because they are charmed 
with the intrinsic beauty of knowledge and science ; and that 
they put the pleasures which they derive from learning in the 
scale against the greatest care and labor? And Homer him- 



B. C. 106-43.] MARCUS TULLIUS CICERO. 305 

self appears to me to have had some such feeling as this, which 
he has developed in what he has said about the songs of the 
Sirens : for they do not seem to have been accustomed to 
attract those who were sailing by with the sweetness of their 
voices, or with any novelty or variety in their song, but the 
profession which they made of possessing great knowledge ; so 
that men clung to their rocks from a desire of learning. For 
thus they invite Ulysses (for I have translated several passages 
of Homer, and this among them) : — 

Oh stay, pride of Greece ! Ulysses, stay ! 
Oh, cease thy course, and listen to our lay ! 
Blest is the man ordain'd our voice to hear : 
Our song instructs the soul and charms the ear. 
Approach, thy soul shall into raptures rise ; 
Approach, and learn new wisdom from the wise. 
We know whate'er the kings of mighty name 
Achieved at Ilium in the field of fame ; 
Whate'er beneath the sun's bright journey lies — 
Oh stay, and learn new wisdom from the wise. 1 

Homer saw that the story would not be probable if he 
represented so great a man as caught by mere songs ; so they 
promise him knowledge, which it was not strange that a man 
desirous of wisdom should consider dearer than his country. 
And, indeed, to wish to know everything of every kind, is 
natural to the curious ; but, to be attracted by the contem- 
plation of greater objects, to entertain a general desire for 
knowledge, ought to be considered a proof of a great man. 

What ardor for study do you not suppose there must have 
been in Archimedes, who was so occupied in drawing some 
mathematical figures in the sand, that he was not aware that 
his city was taken? And what a mighty genius was that of 
Aristoxenus, which, we see, was devoted to music ? What 
fondness, too, for study, must have inspired Aristophanes, to 
dedicate his whole life to literature ! What shall we say of 
Pythagoras ? Why should I speak of Plato and of Democritus, 
by whom, we see, that the most distant countries were travelled 
over, on account of their desire for learning? And those who 
are blind to this have never loved anything very worthy of 
being known. And here I may say, that those who say that 
those studies which I have mentioned are cultivated for the 
sake of the pleasures of the mind, do not understand that they 
are desirable for their own sakes, because the mind is delighted 

1 Pope's Homer, Otlys. xii. 231. 



396 MARCUS TULLIUS CICERO. [b. c. 106-43. 

by them, without the interruption of any ideas of utility, and 
rejoices in the mere fact of knowledge, even though it may 
possibly produce inconvenience. But why need we seek for 
more instances to prove what is so evident? For let us exa- 
mine our own selves, and inquire how the motions of the stars, 
and the contemplation of the heavenly bodies, and the know- 
ledge of all those things which are hidden from us by the 
obscurity of nature, affect us ; and why history, which we are 
accustomed to trace back as far as possible, delights us ; in the 
investigation of which we go over again all that has been omitted, 
and follow up all that we have begun. Nor, indeed, am I 
ignorant that there is a use, and not merely pleasure, in his- 
tory. What, however, will be said, with reference to our 
reading with pleasure imaginary fables, from which no utility 
can possibly be derived ? Or to our wishing that the names 
of those who have performed any great exploits, and their 
family, and their country, and many circumstances besides, 
which are not at all necessary, should be known to us ? How 
shall we explain the fact, that men of the lowest rank, who have 
no hope of ever performing great deeds themselves, artisans in 
short, are fond of history ; and that we may see that those per- 
sons also are especially fond of hearing and reading of great 
achievements, who are removed from all hope of ever perform- 
ing any, being worn out with old age ? It must, therefore, be 
understood, that the allurements are in the things themselves 
which are learnt and known, and that it is they themselves 
which excite us to learning and to the acquisition of informa- 
tion. 

De Finibus. 
DEATH NO EVIL. 

Death, which threatens us daily from a thousand accidents, 
and which, by reason of the shortness of life, can never be far 
off, does not deter a wise man from making such provision for 
his country and his family, as he hopes may last forever ; and 
from regarding posterity, of which he can never have any real 
perception, as belonging to himself. Wherefore a man may 
act for eternity, even though he be persuaded that his soul is 
mortal ; not, indeed, from a desire of glory, which he will be 
insensible of, but from a principle of virtue, which glory will 
inevitably attend, though that is not his object. The process, 
indeed, of nature is this ; that just in the same manner as our 
birth was the beginning of things with us, so death will be the 



B. C. 106-43.] MARCUS TULLIUS CICERO. 39 1 

end ; and as we were no ways concerned with anything before 
we were born, so neither shall we be after we are dead; and 
in this state of things where can the evil be? since death has 
no connection with either the living or the dead ; the one have 
no existence at all, the other are not yet affected by it. 

Away, then, with those follies which are little better than 
the old woman's dreams, such as that it is miserable to die be- 
fore our time. What time do you mean ? That of nature ? 
But she has only lent you life, as she might lend you money, 
without fixing any certain time for its repayment. Have you 
any grounds of complaint, then, that she recalls it at her plea- 
sure ? for you received it on these terms. They that complain 
thus, allow, that if a young child dies, the survivors ought to 
bear his loss with equanimity ; that if an infant in the cradle 
dies, they ought not even to utter a complaint; and yet nature 
has been more severe with them in demanding back what she 
gave. They answer by saying, that such have not tasted the 
sweets of life ; while the other had begun to conceive hopes of 
great happiness, and indeed had begun to realize them. Men 
judge better in other things, and allow a part to be preferable 
to none ; why do they not admit the same estimate in life ? 
Though Callimachus does not speak amiss in saying, that more 
tears bad flowed from Priam than his son ; yet they are thought 
happier who die after they have reached old age. It would be 
hard to say why; for I do not apprehend that any one, if a 
longer life were granted to him, would find it happier. There 
is nothing more agreeable to a man than prudence, which old 
age most certainly bestows on a man, though it may strip him 
of everything else ; but what age is long? or what is there at 
all long to a man ? Does not 

Old age, though, unregarded, still attend 

On childhood's pastimes, as the cares of men ? 

But because there is nothing beyond old age, we call that long; 
all these things are said to be long or short, according to the 
proportion of time they were given us for. Aristotle saith, 
there is a kind of insect near the river Hypanis, which runs 
from a certain part of Europe into the Pontus, whose life con- 
sists but of one day; those that die at the eighth hour, die in 
full age ; those who die when the sun sets are very old, espe- 
cially when the days are at the longest. Compare our longest 
life with eternity, and we shall be found almost as short-lived 
as those little animals. 

Let us, then, despise all these follies — for what softer name 
34 



398 MARCUS TULLIUS CICERO. [b. c. 106-43. 

can I give to such levities? — and let us lay the foundation of 
our happiness iu the strength and greatness of our minds, in a 
contempt and disregard of all earthly things, and in the prac- 
tice of every virtue. For at present we are enervated by the 
softness of our imaginations, so that, should we leave this world 
before the promises of our fortune-tellers are made good to us, 
we should think ourselves deprived of some great advantages, 
and seem disappointed and forlorn. But if, through life, we 
are in continual suspense, still expecting, still desiring, and are 
in continual pain and torture, good gods ! how pleasant must 
that journey be which ends in security and ease ! How pleased 
am I with Therainenes ! of how exalted a soul does he appear! 
For, although we never read of him without tears, yet that 
illustrious man is not to be lamented in his death, who, when 
he had been imprisoned by the command of the thirty tyrants, 
drank off, at one draught, as if he had been thirsty, the poisoned 
cup, and threw the remainder out of it with such force, that it 
sounded as it fell ; and then, on hearing the sound of the drops, 
he said, with a smile, "I drink this to the most excellent Cri- 
tias," who had been his most bitter enemy; for it is customary 
among the Greeks, at their banquets, to name the person to 
whom they intend to deliver the cup. This celebrated man 
was pleasant to the last, even when he had received the poison 
into his bowels, and truly foretold the death of that man whom 
he named when he drank the poison, and that death soon fol- 
lowed. Who that thinks death an evil, could approve of the 
evenness of temper in this great man at the instant of dying? 
Socrates came, a few years after, to the same prison and the 
same cup, by as great iniquity on the part of his judges as the 
tyrants displayed when they executed Therainenes. What a 
speech is that which Plato makes him deliver before his judges, 
after they had condemned him to death! 1 

Tuscidan Disjmtations. 



LETTER TO TREBATIUS. 

[B. C. 54.] 

I perceive by your letter, that my friend Ca3sar looks upon 
you as a most wonderful lawyer : and are you not happy in 
being thus placed in a country where you make so considerable 
a figure upon so small a stock? But with how much greater 
advantage would your noble talents have appeared had you 

1 See pages 119. 120, and 121. 



B. C. 106-43.] MARCUS TULLTUS CICERO. 399 

gone into Britain? Undoubtedly there would not have been 
so profound a sage in the law throughout all that extensive 
island. 

Since your epistle has provoked me to be thus jocose, I will 
proceed in the same strain, and tell you there was one part of 
it I could not read without some envy. And how indeed could 
it be otherwise, when I found, that, whilst much greater men 
were in vain attempting to get admittance to Caesar, you were 
singled out from the crowd, and even summoned to an audi- 
ence? 1 But after giving me an account of affairs which con- 
cern others, why were you silent as to your own ; assured as 
you are that I interest myself in them with as much zeal as if 
they immediately related to myself? Accordingly, as I am 
extremely afraid you will have no employment to keep you 
warm in your winter quarters, I would by all means advise you 
to lay in a sufficient quantity of fuel. Both Mucius and Ma- 
nilius 3 have given their opinions to the same purpose; especially 
as your regimentals, they apprehend, will scarce be ready soon 
enough to secure you against the approaching cold. We hear, 
however, that there has been hot work in your part of the 
world ; which somewhat alarmed me for your safety. But I 
comforted myself with considering, that you are not altogether 
so desperate a soldier as you are a lawyer. It is a wonderful 
consolation indeed to your friends, to be assured that your 
passions are not an overmatch for your prudence. Thus, as 
much as I know you love the water, 3 you would not venture, I 
find, to cross it with Caesar : and though nothing could keep 
you from the combats 4 in Rome, you were much too wise, I 
perceive, to attend them in Britain. 

But pleasantry apart : you know without my telling you, 
with what zeal I have recommended you to Caesar; though 

1 Trebatius, it is probable, bad informed Cicero, in tbe letter to which 
this is an answer, that he had been summoned by Caesar to attend him as 
his assessor upon some trial ; which seems to have led this author into the 
railleries of this and the preceding passages. 

2 Mucius and Manilins, it must be supposed, were two lawyers and par- 
ticular friends of Trebatius. 

s The art of swimming was among the number of polite exercises in ancient 
Rome, and esteemed a necessary qualification for every gentleman. It was 
indeed one of the essential arts in military discipline, as both the soldiers 
and officers had frequently no other means of pursuing or retreating from the 
enemy. Accordingly, the Campus Martins, a place where the Roman youth 
were taught the science of arms, was situated on the banks of the Tiber ; 
and they constantly finished their exercises of this kind, by throwing them- 
selves into the river. 

Alluding to his fondness of the gladiatorial games. 



400 MARCUS TULLIUS CICERO. [b. C. 106-43. 

perhaps you may not be apprised that I have frequently, as 
well as warmly, written to him upon that subject. I had for 
some time, indeed, intermitted my solicitations, as I would not 
seem to distrust his friendship and generosity: however, I 
thought proper in my last to remind him once more of his pro- 
mise. I desire you would let me know what effect my letter 
has produced : and at the same time give me a full account of 
everything that concerns you. For I am exceedingly anxious 
to be informed of the prospect and situation of your affairs ; 
as well as how long you imagine your absence is likely to con- 
tinue. Be persuaded, that nothing could reconcile me to this 
separation, but the hopes of its proving to your advantage. 
In any other view I should not be so impolitic as not to insist 
on your return : as you would be too prudent, I dare say, to 
delay it. The truth is, one hour's gay or serious conversation 
together, is of more importance to us, than all the foes and all 
the friends that the whole nation of Gaul can produce. I en- 
treat you, therefore, to send me an immediate account in what 
posture your affairs stand : and be assured, as honest Chremes 
says to his neighbor in the play : — 

Whatever cares thy lab'ring bosom grieve, 

My tongue shall smooth them, or my hand relieve. 

Farewell. 

LETTER TO TERENTIA AND TULLIA. 

Minturnae, Jan. the 25th. [B. C. 53.] 

In what manner it may be proper to dispose of yourselves, 
during the present conjuncture, is a question which must now 
be decided by your own judgments as much as by mine. Should 
Caesar advance to Rome without committing hostilities, you 
may certainly for the present at least remain there unmolested: 
but if this madman should give up the city to the rapine of his 
soldiers, I must doubt whether even Dolabella's credit and 
authority will be sufficient to protect you. I am under some 
apprehension likewise, lest whilst you are deliberating in what 
manner to act, you should find yourself so surrounded with the 
army as to render it impossible to withdraw, though you should 
be ever so much inclined. The next question is (and it is a 
question which you yourselves are best able to determine), 
whether any ladies of your rank venture to continue in the 
city : if not, will it be consistent with your character to appear 
singular in that point? But be that as it will, you cannot, I 



B. C. 106-43.] MARCUS TULLIUS CICERO. 401 

think, as affairs are now situated, be more commodiously placed, 
than either with me or at some of our farms in this district ; 
supposing, I mean, that I should be able to maintain my pre- 
sent post. I must add, likewise, that a short time, 'tis to be 
feared, will produce a great scarcity in Rome. However, I 
should be glad you would take the sentiments of Atticus, or 
Camillas, or any other friend whom you may choose to consult 
upon this subject. In the meanwhile, let me conjure you both 
to keep up your spirits. The coming over of Labienus to our 
party has given affairs a much better aspect. And Piso hav- 
ing withdrawn himself from the city, is likewise another very 
favorable circumstance : as it is a plain indication that he 
disapproves the impious measures of his son-in-law. 

I entreat you, my dearest creatures, to write to me as fre- 
quently as possible, and let me know how it is with you, as 
well as what is going forward in Rome. My brother and 
nephew, together with Rufus, affectionately salute you. Fare- 
well. 



LETTER TO PAPIRIUS PiETUS. 

[B. C. 42.] 
Your letter gave me a double pleasure: for it not only 
diverted me extremely, but was a proof likewise that you are 
so well recovered as to be able to indulge your usual gayety. 
I was well contented at the same time to find myself the subject 
of your raillery; and, in truth, the repeated provocations I 
had given you were sufficient to call forth all the severity of 
your satire. My only regret is, that I am prevented from 
taking my intended journey into your part of the world; where 
I proposed to have made myself, I do not say your guest, but 
one of your family. You would have found me wonderfully 
changed from the man I formerly was, when you used to cram 
me with your cloying antepasts. 1 For I now more prudently 
sit down to table with an appetite altogether unimpaired, and 
most heroically make my way through every dish that comes 
before me, from the egg 3 that leads the van, to the roast veal 

1 These antepasts seem to have been a kind of collation preparatory to the 
principal entertainment. They generally consisted, it is probable, of such 
dishes as were provocatives to appetite : but prudent economists, as may be 
collected from the turn of Cicero's raillery, sometimes contrived them in such 
a manner as to damp rather than improve the stomach of their guests. 

' 2 The first dish at every Roman table was constantly eggs ; which main- 
tained their post of honor even at the most magnificent entertainments. 

34* 



402 MARCUS TULLIUS CICERO. [b. c. 106-43. 

that brings up the rear. 1 The temperate and unexpensive 
guest whom you were wont to applaud, is now no more. I 
have bidden a total farewell to all the cares of the patriot ; and 
have joined the professed enemies of my former principles ; in 
short, I am become an absolute Epicurean. You are by no 
means, however, to consider me as a friend to that injudicious 
profusion, which is now the prevailing taste of our modern en- 
tertainments : on the contrary, it is that more elegant luxury I 
admire, which you formerly used to display when your finances 
were more flourishing, though your farms were not more nume- 
rous than at present. Be prepared, therefore, for my reception 
accordingly ; and remember you are to entertain a man who 
has not only a most enormous appetite, but who has some little 
knowledge, let me tell you, in the science of elegant eating. 
You know there is a peculiar air of self-sufficiency, that gene- 
rally distinguishes those who enter late into the study of any 
art. You will not wonder, therefore, when I take upon me to 
inform you, that you must banish your cakes and your sweet- 
meats, as articles that are now utterly discarded from all fash- 
ionable bills of fare. I am become indeed such a proficient in 
this science, that I frequently venture to invite to my table 
those refined friends of yours, the delicate Yirrius and Camillus. 
Nay, I am bolder still, and have presumed to give a supper 
even to Hirtius himself; though, I must own, I could not ad- 
vance so far as to honor him with a peacock. To tell you the 
truth, my honest cook had not skill enough to imitate any other 
part of his splendid entertainments, except only his smoking 
soups. 

But to give you a general sketch of my manner of life; I 
spend the first part of the morning in receiving the compliments 
of several, both of our dejected patriots and our gay victors : 
the latter of whom treat me with great marks of civility and 
esteem. As soon as that ceremony is over, I retire to my 
library; where I employ myself either with my books or my 
pen. And here I am sometimes surrounded by an audience, 
who look upon me as a man of most profound erudition, for no 
other reason, perhaps, than because I am not altogether so 
ignorant as themselves. The rest of my time I wholly devote 
to indulgences of a less intellectual kind. I have sufficiently 
indeed paid the tribute of sorrow to my unhappy country; the 
miseries whereof I have longer and more bitterly lamented, 
than ever tender mother bewailed the loss of her only son. 

1 It appears by a passage which. Manutius cites from Tertullian, that the 
Romans usually concluded their feasts with broiled or roast meat. 



B. C. 100-44.] CAIUS JULIUS C^SAR. 403 

Let me desire you, as you would secure your magazine of 
provisions from falling into my hands, to take care of your 
health ; for I have most unmercifully resolved that no pretence 
of indisposition shall preserve your larder from my depreda- 
tions. Farewell. 



CAIUS JULIUS CiESAR. 
100—44 b. c. 

Caius Julius Caesar was born on the 12th of July, B. C. 100. At 
the age of seventeen he provoked the anger of Sylla by marrying 
Cornelia, the daughter of Cihna, who was the most bitter opponent of 
the tyrant. Sylla commanded him to put her away, but unlike Piso 
and Pompey, who submissively obeyed a like command, he boldly 
refused, and consequently was proscribed, deprived of his wife's dower, 
and his own fortune. His life, of course, being in great danger, he was 
obliged to conceal himself for some time, and with great difficulty 
obtained, through his kindred, pardon from Sylla, who remarked, 
"There are many Mariuses in that boy." This was the first proof 
which Csesar gave of the resolution and decision of character which 
distinguished him through life. 

But to go into the details of his political and military life would 
occupy too much space in a work of this character, and would be quite 
foreign to its design. His rapid course through the various minor 
offices to the highest in the state— the consulship ; .his various efforts 
to gain the favor of the populace by entertainments and feasts ; his 
great military success in Spain, in Gaul, and in Britain ; his returning 
to Rome with his victorious troops, contrary to the command of the 
Senate ; his pursuit of his great rival, Pompey, into Greece, and final 
victory over him at Pharsalia, B. C. 48 ; his return to Rome, and 
assuming the supreme dictatorship, and his assassination in the 
Senate-house on the Ides of March (the 15th) B. C. 44; all these inci- 
dents of his eventful life, and many others scarcely inferior, with their 
details, form a most interesting and instructive page in the history of 
the world. But while we leave these to the political historian, 1 we 
may remark upon his character. In a moral point of view it presents 

1 Read that admirable book, before commended, " Middleton's Life of 
Cicero," which might better be termed "Cicero and his Times." 



404 CAIUS JULIUS CiESAR. [b. c. 100-44. 

no aspect for admiration ; in licentiousness it was as low as that of 
most of the Romans in his day. He had, however, some redeeming 
traits ; he "was manly, generous, forgiving. While indifferent as to 
the means "by which he acquired power, when it was once obtained, 
no man ever displayed more moderation and wisdom in its exercise. 
With a magnanimity which victors rarely exhibit, and least of all, 
those engaged in civil wars, he freely forgave all who had home arms 
against him, and declared he should make no difference between the 
Pompeians and Caesarians. 

In the character of a legislator he showed great wisdom. As soon 
as he had obtained supreme power he proceeded to correct the various 
evils that had crept into the state, and to obtain the enactment of 
several wise laws, suitable to the altered condition of the Common- 
wealth. Though previously he had been more extravagant in his 
expenditure than any other Roman general, he now attempted by 
severe laws to restrain the extravagance which pervaded all classes 
of society. A most important change was introduced by him in the 
reformation of the calendar, which was not only of vast importance 
to his country and to the civilized world, but its benefits have extended 
to the present day. What consummate folly, then, to say nothing of 
the wickedness, was displayed by the conspirators who put him to 
death ; for instead of the wise, the noble, the magnanimous, they 
exalted to supreme power one of the basest men in all Rome — 
Augustus, who, as one of the second Triumvirate, consented to the 
murder of his intimate and noble friend Cicero. 

As to his intellectual character, Caesar was gifted by nature with 
the most varied talents, and was distinguished by an extraordinary 
genius, and by attainments in very diversified pursuits. He was, at 
one and the same time, a general, a statesman, a lawgiver, a jurist, 
an orator, a poet, an historian, a philologer, a mathematician, and an 
architect. He seemed equally fitted to excel in all, and has given 
proofs that he would have surpassed most men in any subject to 
which he should devote the energies of his great mind ; and Middle- 
ton says he was the only man in Rome capable of rivalling Cicero as 
an orator. During his whole busy life he found time for literary 
pursuits, and always took pleasure in the society and conversation 
of men of learning. 

Caesar wrote many works on different subjects, but they are now all 
lost but his "Commentaries." These relate to the history of the first 
seven years of the Gallic War in seven books, and the history of the 
Civil War down to the commencement of the Alexandrine in three 
books. The purity of his Latin, and the clearness and beauty of his 



B. C. 100-44.] CAIUS JULIUS C^SAR. 405 

style were celebrated by the ancients themselves, and have rendered 
his " Commentaries" a most popular and desirable book with all stu- 
dents of the Latin language. l 



PEOPLE AND CUSTOMS OF BRITAIN. 

The interior portion of Britain is inhabited by those of whom 
they say that it is handed down by tradition that they were 
born in the island itself: the maritime portion by those who 
had passed over from the country of the Belga? for the purpose 
of plunder and making war ; almost all of whom are called by 
the names of those states from which being sprung they went 
thither, and having waged war, continued there and began to 
cultivate the lands. The number of the people is countless, 
and their buildings exceedingly numerous, for the most part 
very like those of the Gauls : the number of cattle is great. 
They use either brass 2 or iron rings, determined at a certain 
weight, as their money. Tin is produced in the midland re- 
gions ; in the maritime, iron ; but the quantity of it is small : 
they employ brass, which is imported. There, as in Gaul, is 
timber of every description, except beech and fir. They do not 
regard it lawful 3 to eat the hare, and the cock, and the goose ; 
they, however, breed them for amusement and pleasure. The 
climate is more temperate than in Gaul, the cold being less 
severe. 

The most civilized of all these nations are they who inhabit 
Kent, which is entirely a maritime district, nor do their customs 
differ much from those of the Gauls. Most of the inland inhabi- 
tants do not sow corn, but live on milk and flesh, and are clad 
with skins. All the Britains, indeed, dye themselves with woad, 
which occasions a bluish color, and thereby they have a more 
terrible appearance in fight. They wear their hair long, and 
have every part of their body shaved except their head and 
upper lip. 

THE DRUIDS. 

The Druids do not go to war, nor pay tribute together with 
the rest ; they have an exemption from military service and a 

1 Editions: Ondendorf, Stuttgard, 8vo., 1822; Morris, re-edited by Ober- 
lin, Leipsic, 1819, 8vo. 

Tacitus, in his life of Agricola, mentions silver and gold as the produc- 
tions of Britain. 

The nefas, or impiety of eating those animals does not appear, however, 
to arise from their having been victims offered in sacrifice. 



406 CAIUS JULIUS cjesab. [b. c. 100-44. 

dispensation in all matters. Induced by such great advantages, 
many embrace this profession of their own accord, and many 
are sent to it by their parents and relations. They are said 
there to learn by heart a great number of verses ; accordingly 
some remain in the course of training twenty years. N"or do 
they regard it lawful to commit these to writing, though in 
almost all other matters, in their public and private transac- 
tions, they use Greek characters. That practice they seem to 
me to have adopted for two reasons ; because they neither de- 
sire their doctrines to be divulged among the mass of the people, 
nor those who learn to devote themselves the less to the efforts 
of memory, relying on writing ; since it generally occurs to 
most men, that, in their dependence on writing, they relax their 
diligence in learning thoroughly, and their employment of the 
memory. They wish to inculcate this as one of their leading 
tenets, that souls do not become extinct, 1 but pass after death 
from one body to another ; and they think that men by this 
tenet are in a great degree excited to valor, the fear of death 
being disregarded. They likewise discuss and impart to the 
youth many things respecting the stars and their motion, re- 
specting the extent of the world and of our earth, respecting 
the nature of things; and respecting the power and the majesty 
of the immortal gods. 2 



THE GAULS. 

The nation of the Gauls is extremely devoted to superstitious 
rites ; and on that account they who are troubled with unusu- 
ally severe diseases and they who are engaged in battles and 
dangers, either sacrifice men as victims, or vow that they will 
sacrifice them, and employ the Druids as the performers of 
those sacrifices; because they think that unless the life of a 
mau be offered for the life of a man, the mind of the immortal 
gods cannot be rendered propitious, and they have sacrifices of 
that kind ordained for national purposes. Others have figures 
of vast size, the limbs of which formed of osiers they fill with 
living men, which being set on fire, the men perish enveloped 
in the flames. They consider that the oblation of such as have 

1 Between the Druid ical and the Pythagorean Metempsychosis there was 
this difference, that the latter maintained the migration of the soul into 
irrational animals, while the former restricted the dogma to the passage of 
the soul from man to man. 

2 Other ancient writers hare referred to the sciences of the Druids. 



B. C. 100-44.] CA1US JULIUS CAESAR. 407 

been taken in theft, or in robbery, or any other offence, is more 
acceptable to the immortal gods; but when a supply of that 
class is wanting, they have recourse to the oblation of even the 
innocent. 

They worship as their divinity, Mercury 1 in particular, and 
have many images of him, and regard him as the inventor of 
all arts ; they consider him the guide of their journeys and 
marches, and believe him to have very great influence over the 
acquisition of gain and mercantile transactions. Next to him 
they worship Apollo, and Mars, and Jupiter, and Minerva ; 
respecting these deities they have for the most part the same 
belief as other nations : namely, that Apollo averts diseases ; 
that Minerva imparts the invention of manufactures ; that 
Jupiter possesses the sovereignty of the heavenly powers; that 
Mars presides over wars. To him, when they have determined 
to engage in battle, they commonly vow those things which they 
shall take in war. When they have conquered, they sacrifice 
whatever captured animals may have survived the conflict, and 
collect the other things into one place. In many states you 
may see piles of these things heaped up in their consecrated 
spots ; nor does it often happen that any one, disregarding 
the sanctity of the case, dares either to secrete in his house 
things captured, or take away those deposited ; and the most 
•severe punishment, with torture, has been established for such 
a deed. 

All the Gauls assert that they are descended from the god 
Dis, and say that this tradition has been handed down by the 
Druids. For that reason they compute the divisions of every 
season, not by the number of days, but of nights ; they keep 
birthdays and the beginnings of months and years in such an 
order that the day follows the night. Among the other usages 
of their life, they differ in this from almost all other nations, 
that they do not permit their children to approach them openly 
until they are grown up so as .to be able to bear the service of 
war; and they regard it as indecorous for a son of boyish age 
to stand in public in the presence of his father. 

Whatever sums of money the husbands have received in the 
name of dowry from their wives, making an estimate of it, they 
add the same amount out of their own estates. An account is 

1 The student must not imagine that Csesar found the names Mercurius, 
Apollo, &c, existing among the Gauls, as those of their deities here spoken 
of; hut it is to be understood that Cgesar applied to the divinities of the 
Gauls the names of those in the Roman mythology, whose attributes gene- 
rally corresponded with them severally. 



408 CAIUS JULIUS CAESAR. [b. c. 100-44. 

kept of all this money conjointly, and the profits are laid by: 
whichever of them shall have survived the other, to that one 
the portion of both reverts, together with the profits of the 
previous time. Husbands have power of life and death over 
their wives as well as over their children : and when the father 
of a family, born in a more than commonly distinguished rank, 
has died, his relations assemble, and, if the circumstances of 
his death are suspicious, hold an investigation upon the wives 
in the manner adopted towards slaves ; and, if proof be ob- 
tained, put them to severe torture, and kill them. Their fune- 
rals, considering the state of civilization among the Gauls, are 
magnificent and costly ; and they cast into the fire all things, 
including living creatures, which they suppose to have been 
dear to them when alive ; and, a little before this period, slaves 
and dependants, who were ascertained to have been beloved by 
them, were, after the regular funeral rites were completed, burnt 
together with them. 



THE GERMANS. 

The Germans differ much from these usages, for they have 
neither Druids to preside over sacred offices, nor do they pay 
great regard to sacrifices. They rank in the number of the 
gods those alone whom they behold, and by whose instrument- 
ality they are obviously benefited, namely, the sun, fire, and the 
moon ; they have not heard of the other deities even by report. 
Their whole life is occupied in hunting and in the pursuits of 
the military art; from childhood they devote themselves to 
fatigue and hardships. Those who have remained chaste for 
the longest time, receive the greatest commendation among 
their people : they think that by this the growth is promoted, 
by this the physical powers are increased and the sinews are 
strengthened. 

They do not pay much attention to agriculture, and a large 
portion of their food consists in milk, cheese, and flesh ; nor 
has any one a fixed quantity of land or his own individual 
limits ; but the magistrates and the leading men each year 
apportion to the tribes and families, who have united together, 
as much land as, and in the place in which, they think proper, 
and the year after compel them to remove elsewhere. For this 
enactment they advance many reasons — lest seduced by long- 
continued custom, they may exchange their ardor in the waging 
of war for agriculture ; lest they may be anxious to acquire 



B. C. 100-44.] CAIUS JULIUS CAESAR. 409 

extensive estates, and the more powerful drive the weaker from 
their possessions ; lest they construct their houses with too 
great a desire to avoid cold and heat ; lest the desire of wealth 
spring up, from which cause divisions and discords arise ; and 
that they may keep the common people in a contented state of 
mind, when each sees his own means placed on an equality with 
those of the most powerful. 

It is the greatest glory to the several states to have as wide 
deserts as possible around them, their frontiers having been 
laid waste. They consider this the real evidence of their 
prowess, that their neighbors shall be driven out of their lands 
and abandon them, and that no one dare settle near them ; at 
the same time they think that they shall be on that account the 
more secure, because they have removed the apprehension of a 
sudden incursion. When a state either repels war waged 
against it, or wages it against another, magistrates are chosen 
to preside over that war with such authority, that they have 
power of life and death. In peace there is no common magis- 
trate, but the chiefs of provinces and cantons administer justice 
and determine controversies among their own people. Rob- 
beries which are committed beyond the boundaries of each state 
bear no infamy, and they avow that these are committed for 
the purpose of disciplining their youth and of preventing sloth. 
And when any of their chiefs has said in an assembly "that he 
will be their leader, let those who are willing to follow, give in 
their names;" they who approve of both the enterprise and the 
man, arise and promise their assistance and are applauded by 
the people ; such of them as have not followed him are ac- 
counted in the number of deserters and traitors, and confidence 
in all matters is afterwards refused them. To injure guests 
they regard as impious ; they defend from wrong those who 
have come to them for any purpose whatever, and esteem them 
inviolable ; to them the houses of all are open and maintenance 
is freely supplied. 1 



BATTLE OF PHARSALIA. 

There was so much space left between the two lines, as 
sufficed for the onset of the hostile armies : but Pompey had 

1 "No nation," says Tacitus, speaking of them in his Germania, ''more 
freely exercises entertainment and hospitality. To drive any one whomso- 
ever from their houses, they consider a crime." 

35 



410 CAIUS JULIUS c^sar. [b. c. 100-44. 

ordered his soldiers to await Caesar's attack, and not to advance 
from their position, or suffer their line to be put into disorder. 
And he is said to have done this by the advice of Caius Tria- 
rins, that the impetuosity of the charge of Caesar's soldiers 
might be checked, and their line broken, and that Pompey's 
troops remaining in their ranks, might attack them while in 
disorder ; and he thought that the javelins would fall with less 
force if the soldiers were kept in their ground, than if they met 
them in their course ; at the same time he trusted that Caesar's 
soldiers, after running over double the usual ground, would 
become weary and exhausted by the fatigue. But to me Pom- 
pey seems to have acted without sufficient reason : for there is 
a certain impetuosity of spirit and an alacrity implanted by 
nature in the hearts of all men, which is inflamed by a desire 
to meet the foe. This a general should endeavor not to repress, 
but to increase ; nor was it a vain institution of our ancestors, 
that the trumpets should sound on all sides, and a general shout 
be raised ; by which they imagined that the enemy were struck 
with terror, and their own army inspired with courage. 

But our men, when the signal was given, rushed forward 
with their javelins ready to be launched, but perceiving that 
Pompey's men did not run to meet their charge, having acquired 
experience by custom, and being practised in former battles, 
they of their own accord repressed their speed, and halted 
almost midway, that they might not come up with the enemy 
when their strength was exhausted, and after a short respite 
they again renewed their course, and threw their javelins, and 
instantly drew their swords, as Caesar had ordered them. Xor 
did Pompey's men fail in this crisis, for they received our jave- 
lins, stood our charge, and maintained their ranks : and having 
launched their javelins, had recourse to their swords. At the 
same time Pompey's horse, according to their orders, rushed 
out at once from his left wing, and his whole host of archers 
poured after them. Our cavalry did not withstand their charge : 
but gavegroundalittle, upon which Pompey'shorse pressed them 
more vigorously, and began to file off in troops, and flank our 
army. When Caesar perceived this, he gave the signal to his 
fourth line, which he had formed of the six cohorts. They in- 
stantly rushed forward and charged Pompey's horse with such 
fury, that not a man of them stood ; but all wheeling about, 
not only quitted their post, but galloped forward to seek a 
refuge in the highest mountains. By their retreat the archers 
and slingers, being left destitute and defenceless, were all cut 
to pieces. The cohorts, pursuing their success, wheeled about 






B. 0. 100-44.] CAIUS JULIUS CAESAR. 411 

upon Pompey's left wing, whilst his infantry still continued to 
make battle, and attacked them in the rear. 

At the same time Caesar ordered his third line to advance, 
which till then had not been engaged, but had kept their post. 
Thus, new and fresh troops having come to the assistance of 
the fatigued, and others having made an attack on their rear, 
Pompey's men were not able to maintain their ground, but all 
fled, 1 nor was Caesar deceived in his opinion, that the victory, 
as he had declared in his speech to his soldiers, must have its 
beginning from those six cohorts, which he had placed as a 
fourth line to oppose the horse. For by them the cavalry were 
routed ; by them the archers and slingers were cut to pieces ; 
by them the left wing of Pompey's army was surrounded, and 
obliged to be the first to flee. But when Pompey saw his 
cavalry routed, and that part of his army on which he reposed 
his greatest hopes thrown into confusion, despairing of the 
rest, he quitted the field, and retreated straightway on horse- 
back to his camp, and calling to the centurions, whom he had 
placed to guard the praetorian gate, with a loud voice, that the 
soldiers might hear: "Secure the camp," says he, "defend it 
with diligence, if any danger should threaten it ; I will visit 
the other gates, and encourage the guards of the camp." 
Having thus said, he retired into his tent in utter despair, yet 
anxiously waiting the issue. 

Caesar having forced the Pompeians to flee into their en- 
trenchment, and thinking that he ought not to allow them any 
respite to recover from their fright, exhorted his soldiers to 
take advantage of fortune's kindness, and to attack the camp. 
Though they were fatigued by the intense heat, for the battle 
had continued till mid-day, yet, being prepared to undergo any 
labor, they cheerfully obeyed his command. The camp was 
bravely defended by the cohorts which had been left to guard 
it, but with much more spirit by the Thracians and foreign 
auxiliaries. For the soldiers who had fled for refuge to it from 
the field of battle, affrighted and exhausted by fatigue, having 
thrown away their arms and military standards, had their 
thoughts more engaged on their further escape than on the 
defence of the camp. Nor could the troops who were posted 
on the battlements long withstand the immense number of our 
darts, but fainting under their wounds, quitted the place, and 

1 Historians state that Caesar on this occasion advised his soldiers to aim 
at the faces of Pompey's cavalry, who, being composed principally of the 
young noblemen of Rome, dreaded a scar in the face more than death itself. 



412 catullus. [b. c. 85-45. 

under the conduct of their centurions and tribunes, fled, with- 
out stopping, to the high mountains which joined the camp. 

In Pompey's camp you might see arbors in which tables 
were laid; a large quantity of plate set out; the floors of the 
tents covered with fresh sods; the tents of Lucius Lentulus and 
others shaded with ivy ; and many other things which were 
proofs of excessive luxury, and a confidence of victory; so that 
it might readily be inferred, that they had no apprehensions of 
the issue of the day, as they indulged themselves in unnecessary 
pleasures, and yet upbraided with luxury Caesar's army, dis- 
tressed and suffering troops, who had always been in want of 
common necessaries. Pompey, as soon as our men had forced 
the trenches, mounting his horse, and stripping off his general's 
habit, went hastily out of the back gate of the camp, and gal- 
loped with all speed to Larissa. Nor did he stop there, but 
with the same dispatch, collecting a few of his flying troops, 
and halting neither day nor night, he arrived at the sea-side, 
attended by only thirty horse, and went on board a victualling 
barque, often complaining, as we have been told, that he had 
been so deceived in his expectation, that he was almost per- 
suaded that he had been betrayed by those from whom he had 
expected victory, as they began the flight. 



CATULLUS. 
85—45 b. c. 



Caius (or Quintus) Valerius Catullus was born, according to the 
most probable accounts, in the year B. C. 85. Very few particulars of 
his life are known. His father was a person of some consideration, 
and his son must have possessed a moderate independence, since, in 
addition to his paternal residence on the beautiful promontory of 
Sirmio, he was the proprietor of a villa in the vicinity of Tibur, and 
performed a voyage from the Pontus in his own yacht. Early in life 
he took up his residence at Rome, and lived on terms of intimacy with 
many of the most dissipated, as well as the most distinguished lite- 
rary and political characters of the day, and plunged into all the 
voluptuousness and debauchery of the times. He, therefore, soon 
became pecuniarily embarrassed, and to better his fortunes he travel- 
led into Bithynia with Memmius, governor of that province. This 






B. C. 85-45.] CATULLUS. 413 

movement did not seem to answer the purpose intended, and he died 
an untimely death at the age of forty. 

Most of the compositions of Catullus which have reached us are 
pieces of gallantry, or satirical epigrams, with a few of a more ele- 
vated cast. They exhibit the sensual grossness which is imbibed 
from depraved habits and loose imaginations, in singular contrast 
with gleams of sentiment and taste, and the polish of intellectual cul- 
tivation. Many of his amatory trifles are quite unrivalled in the 
elegancy of their playfulness, and no author has excelled him in the 
purity and neatness of his style, the delightful ease and racy simpli- 
city of his manner, and his graceful turns of thought and happiness 
of expression. But many of his poems are stained by gross coarse- 
ness and sensuality, which will forever be a bar to their being gene- 
rally read. 

TO LESBIA'S 1 SPARROW. 

Sparrow, my dear lady's joy, 
Who with thee delights to toy, 
Thee within her breast to fold, 
And her fair forefinger hold 
Out for thee to bite its tip, 
Whilst I sit by with quivering lip, 
And she, with playful arts like these, 
Affects to keep a bright-eyed ease, 
And hide her passion's pleasing pain, 
That runs, like fire, through every vein ! 
With thee, like her, I fain would play, 
And chase my bosom's grief away ; 
And thou shouldst welcome be to me, 
As in the legend old, we see, 
The magic apple was to her, 
Whose icy heart no youth could stir — 
The golden fruit, which loosed the zone, 
And bade her Love's dominion own. 

Martin. 



ELEGY ON THE SPARROW. 

Loves and Graces, mourn with me, 
Mourn, fair youths, where'er ye be ! 
Dead my Lesbia's sparrow is, 
Sparrow, that was all her bliss ; 

1 The lady-love who is the theme of the greater number of Catullus' ama- 
tory effusions is styled Lesbia, but her real name was Clodia, of whom nothing 
in praise could be said but that she possessed beauty and accomplishments. 

35* 



414 catullus. [b. c. 85-45. 

Than her very eyes more dear — 
For he made her dainty cheer, 
Knew her well, as any maid 
Knows her mother — never stray'd 
From her lap, but still would go 
Hopping round her to and fro, 
And to her, and none but she, 
Piped and chirrup'd prettily. 
Now he treads that gloomy track, 
Whence none ever may come back. 
Out upon you, and your power, 
Which all fairest things devour, 
Orcus' gloomy shades, that e'er 
Ye took my bird, that was so fair ! 
Oh vilely done ! Oh, dismal shades ! 
On you I charge it, that my maid's 
Dear little eyes are swollen and red, 
With weeping for her darling dead. 

Martin. 



TO LESBIA. 

No nymph, amid the much-lov'd few, 
Is lov'd as thou art lov'd by me : 

No love was e'er so fond, so true, 

As my fond love, sweet maid, for thee ! 

Yes, e'en thy faults, bewitching dear ! 

With such delights my soul possess ; 
That whether faithless, or sincere, 

I cannot love thee more, nor less ! 



TO HIMSELF. 

Then didst thou freely taste the bliss, 
On which impassioned lovers feed ; 

When she repaid thee kiss for kiss, 
Oh, life was then a heaven indeed ! 

'Tis past ! Forget as she forgot ! 

Lament no more — but let her go ! 
Tear from thy heart each tender thought, 

That round her image there did grow ! 

Girl, fare thee well ! Catullus ne'er 

Will sue, where love is met with scorn ; 

But, false one, thou with none to care 
For thee, on thy lone couch shalt mourn ! 






B. C. 85-45.] CATULLUS. 415 

Think what a waste thy life shall be ! 

Who'll woo thee now ? who praise thy charms ? 
Who shall be all in all to thee, 

Thy heart's love nestling in thy arms ? 

Who now will give thee kiss for kiss ? 

Whose lip shalt thou in rapture bite ? 
And in thy lone hours think of this, 

My heart has cast thee from it quite. 

Martin. 



TO LESBIA FAITHLESS. 

You told me — ah, well I remember the hour! 

That still to Catullus thy heart should be true, 
That, blest with his heart's love, thy best, brightest dower, 

Even Jove at thy feet unregarded might sue. 
Then I loved thee, and oh ! what a passion was mine ! 

Undimmed by dishonor, unsullied by shame, 
Oh, 'twas pure as a sire round his child might entwine, 

To guard its dear head with the sheltering flame. 

Now I know thee, how faithless, how worthless thou art ! 

That the stain of dishonor is dark on thy brow, 
And though thou may'st still be the queen of my heart, 

How changed the emotions I feel for thee now! 
No more the pure being my fancy adored, 

With incense sent up from love's hallowing fire, 
Thou hast fallen, and my heart, to thy infamy lower'd, 

Is cursed with the rage of degrading desire. 

Martin. 



TO MARCUS TULLIUS CICERO, 

WHO HAD PLEADED SUCCESSFULLY FOR CATULLUS. 

Tully, most eloquent, most sage, 

Of all the Roman race, 
That deck the past or present age, 

Or future days may grace. 

Oh ! may Catullus thus declare 

An overflowing heart ; 
And, though the worst of poets, dare 

A grateful lay impart ? 

'Twill teach thee how thou hast surpast 

All others in thy line ; 
Far, far as he in his is last, 

Art thou the first in thine. 

Hon. G. Lamb. 



416 CAIUS SALUSTIUS crispus. [b. c. 86-34. 



TO THE PENINSULA OF SIRMIO. 1 

Sweet Sirmio ! Thou, the very eye 

Of all peninsulas and isles, 
That in our lakes of silver lie, 

Or sleep, enwreath'd by Neptune's smiles. 

How gladly back to thee I fly ! 

Still doubting, asking — Can it be 
That I have left Bithynia's sky, 

And gaze in safety upon thee ? 

Oh ! what is happier than to find 

Our hearts at ease, our perils past ; 
When anxious long, the lighten'd mind 

Lays down its load of care at last ; 

When tired with toil, o'er land and deep, 

Again we tread the welcome floor 
Of our own home, and sink to sleep 

On the long wished-for bed once more. 

This, this it is, that pays alone 

The ills of all life's former track ; 
Shine out, my beautiful, mine own 

Sweet Sirmio, greet thy master back. 

And thou, fair lake, whose water quaffs 
The light of heaven, like Lydia's sea, 

Rejoice, rejoice — let all that laughs 
Abroad, at home, laugh out with me! 

Thomas Moore. 



CAIUS SALUSTIUS CRISPUS. 
86—34 b. c. 

Salustius, or more familiarly, Sallust, was born B. C. 86, at Ami- 
ternum, in the country of the Sabini. At about the age of twenty- 
seven he obtained the Qusestorship, and about six years after he was 
elected Tribune of the people. Two years after he was expelled from 

1 A narrow neck or tongue of land projecting ont into Lacus Benacus, 
Verona. It is said now to be a very conspicuous and picturesque object in 
all views of the lake. 



B. C. 86-34.] CAIUS SALTJST1US CRISPUS. 4 It 

the senate; some say for immoral conduct. This is not very probable, 
as the majority of the senate were not any very remarkable patterns 
of virtue themselves. But he belonged to the faction of Caesar, and 
this was most probably the cause why he was thus treated. In B. C. 47 
he was Praetor elect, and thus restored to his rank. He accompanied 
Caesar in his African war, B. C. 46, and was left there as governor of 
Numidia, in which capacity he was charged with having oppressed 
the people, and enriched himself by unjust means. The truth of this 
charge is somewhat confirmed by the fact of his becoming suddenly 
immensely rich, as was shown by the magnificent palace he built in 
the suburbs of Rome, surrounded by delightful pleasure gardens, 
which were afterwards celebrated as the "Gardens of Sallust." He 
passed quietly through the troublesome period that followed Csesar's 
death, and died B. C. 34. 

The only works of Sallust that have come down to us are his His- 
tory of the Conspiracy of Catiline, and his History of the War against 
Jugurtha, King of Numidia — two most important and prominent topics 
in the history of Rome. His style is concise and compressed, and 
was carefully formed on that of Thucydides. But he by no means 
equals the great Greek historian in profundity of thought or profound 
philosophical deductions. His art is generally apparent, and his 
reflections are of an artificial, constrained character. He excels in 
drawing portraits to the life. In the Catiline conspiracy, the parallel 
drawn between Cato and Csesar is one of great power and nice discri- 
mination, but so concise as to be hardly translatable. The portrait of 
Catiline conveys a vivid idea of his mind and person — his profligate, 
untamable spirit, infinite resources, unwearied application, and pre- 
vailing address ; and his description of him on the battle field, in the 
agonies of death, with 

"Hate's last lightning quivering from his eyes," 

is one of great power. The introductory sketch of the genius and 
manners of Jugurtha is no less able and spirited than the character 
of Catiline. The portraits of the other principal characters who 
figured in the Jugurthine war are also admirably brought out : that 
of Marius in particular is happily touched. 1 

1 The editions of Sallust are very numerous. Among the best modern 
editions are those of F. D. Gerlach, Basel, 1831, three volumes 4to. ; and of 
Kritz, Leipsic, 1828-1834, two volumes 8vo. An excellent edition with 
English notes is that by Charles Merivale, B. D. Cambridge (Eng.), 1852. 



4L8 CAIUS SALUSTIUS crispus. [b. c. 86-34. 



CHARACTER OF THE LATER ROMAN REPUBLIC. 

When, by perseverance and integrity, the republic had in- 
creased its power ; when mighty princes had been vanquished 
in war; 1 when barbarous tribes and populous states had been 
reduced to subjection ; when Carthage, the rival of Rome's 
dominion, had been utterly destroyed, and sea and land lay 
everywhere open to her sway, fortune then began to exercise 
her tyranny, and to introduce universal innovation. To those 
who had easily endured toils, dangers, and doubtful and diffi- 
cult circumstances, ease and wealth, the objects of desire to 
others, became a burden and a trouble. At first the love of 
money, and then that of power, began to prevail, and these 
became, as it were, the sources of every evil. For avarice 
subverted honesty, integrity, and other honorable principles, 
and, in their stead, inculcated pride, inhumanity, contempt of 
religion, and general venality. Ambition prompted many to 
become deceitful ; to keep one thing concealed in the breast, 
and another ready on the tongue ; to estimate friendships and 
enmities, not by their worth, but according to interest ; and 
to carry rather a specious countenance than an honest heart. 
These vices at first advanced but slowly, and were sometimes 
restrained by correction ; but afterwards, when their infection 
had spread like a pestilence, the state was entirely changed, 
and the government, from being the most equitable and praise- 
worthy, became rapacious and insupportable. 

At first, however, it was ambition, rather than avarice, that 
influenced the minds of men ; a vice which approaches nearer 
to virtue than the other. For of glory, honor, and powder, the 
worthy is as desirous as the worthless ; but the one pursues 
them by just methods ; the other, being destitute of honorable 
qualities, works with fraud and deceit. But avarice has merely 
money for its object, which no wise man has ever immoderately 
desired. It is a vice which, as if imbued with deadly poison, 
enervates whatever is manly in body or mind. It is always 
unbounded and insatiable, and is abated neither by abundance 
nor by want. 

But after Lucius Sylla, having recovered the government 
by force of arms, proceeded, after a fair commencement, to a 
pernicious termination, all became robbers and plunderers ; 

1 Namely — Perses, Antiochus, Mithridates, Tigranes, and others. 



B. C. 86-34.] CAIUS SALUSTIUS CRISPUS. 419 

some set their affections on houses, others on lands ; his vic- 
torious troops knew neither restraint nor moderation, but 
inflicted on the citizens disgraceful and inhuman outrages. 
Their rapacity was increased by the circumstance that Sylla, 
in order to secure the attachment of the forces which he had 
commanded in Asia, had treated them, contrary to the practice 
of our ancestors, with extraordinary indulgence, and exemption 
from discipline; and pleasant and luxurious quarters had easily, 
during seasons of idleness, enervated the minds of the soldiery. 
Then the armies of the Roman people first became habituated 
to licentiousness and intemperance, and began to admire sta- 
tues, pictures, and sculptured vases; to seize such objects alike 
in public edifices and private dwellings ; to spoil temples ; and 
to cast off respect for everything, sacred and profane. Such 
troops, accordingly, when once they obtained the mastery, left 
nothing to the vanquished. Success unsettles the principles 
even of the wise, and scarcely would those of debauched habits 
use victory with moderation. 

When wealth was once considered an honor, and glory, 
authority, and power attended on it, virtue lost her influence, 
poverty was thought a disgrace, and a life of innocence was 
regarded as a life of ill-nature. From the influence of riches, 
accordingly, luxury, avarice, and pride prevailed among the 
youth ; they grew at once rapacious and prodigal ; they un- 
dervalued what was their own, and coveted what was another's; 
they set at naught modesty and continence ; they lost all dis- 
tinction between sacred and profane, and threw off all con- 
sideration and self-restraint. 

It furnishes much matter for reflection, after viewing our 
modern mansions aud villas extended to the size of cities, to 
contemplate the temples which our ancestors, a most devout 
race of men, erected to the gods. But our forefathers adorned 
the fanes of the deities with devotion, and their homes with 
their own glory, and took nothing from those whom they con- 
quered but the power of doing harm. Their descendants, on 
the contrary, the basest of mankind, have even wrested from 
their allies, with the most flagrant injustice, whatever their 
brave and victorious ancestors had left to their vanquished 
enemies ; as if the only use of power were to inflict injury. 

For why should I mention those displays of extravagance, 
which can be believed by none but those who have seen them ; 
as that mountains have been levelled, and seas covered with 
edifices, by many private citizens ; men whom I consider to 
have made a sport of their wealth, since they were impatient to 



420 CAIUS SALTJSTIUS CRISPIJS. [b. c. 86-34. 

squander disreputably what they might have enjoyed with 
honor. 

But the love of irregular gratification, open debauchery, and 
all kinds of luxury, had spread abroad with no less force. Men 
forgot their sex ; women threw off all the restraints of modesty. 
To gratify appetite, they sought for every kind of production 
by land and by sea; they slept before there was any inclination 
for sleep ; they no longer waited to feel hunger, thirst, cold, 
or fatigue, but anticipated them all by luxurious indulgence. 
Such propensities drove the youth, when their patrimonies 
were exhausted, to criminal practices ; for their minds, impreg- 
nated with evil habits, could not easily abstain from gratifying 
their passions, and were thus the more inordinately devoted in 
every way to rapacity and extravagance. 



CHARACTER OF CATILINE. 

Lucius Catiline was a man of noble birth, and of eminent 
mental and personal endowments; but of a vicious and de- 
praved disposition. His delight, from his youth, had been in 
civil commotions, bloodshed, robbery, and sedition ; and in 
such scenes he had spent his early years. His constitution 
could endure hunger, want of sleep, and cold, to a degree sur- 
passing belief. His mind was daring, subtle, and versatile, 
capable of pretending or dissembling whatever he wished. He 
was covetous of other men's property, and prodigal of his own. 
He had abundance of eloquence, though but little wisdom. 
His insatiable ambition was always pursuing objects extrava- 
gant, romantic, and unattainable. 

Since the time of Sylla's dictatorship, a strong desire of 
seizing the government possessed him, nor did he at all care, 
provided that he secured power for himself, by what means he 
might arrive at it. His violent spirit was daily more and more 
hurried on by the diminution of his patrimony, and by his con- 
sciousness of guilt; both which evils he had increased by those 
practices which I have mentioned above. The corrupt morals 
of the state, too, which extravagance and selfishness, pernicious 
and contending vices, rendered thoroughly depraved, furnished 
him with additional incentives to action. 

In so populous and so corrupt a city as Rome then was, 
Catiline, as it was easy to do, kept about him, like a body- 
guard, crowds of the unprincipled and desperate. For all 
those shameless, libertine, and profligate characters, who had 






B. 0. 86-34.] CAIUS SALUSTIUS CRISPUS, 421 

dissipated their patrimonies by gaming, luxury, and sensuality; 
all who had contracted heavy debts, to purchase immunity for 
their crimes or offences; all assassins or sacrilegious persons 
from every quarter, convicted or dreading conviction for their 
evil deeds; all, besides, whom their tongue or their hand 
maintained by perjury or civil bloodshed; all, in fine, whom 
wickedness, poverty, or a guilty conscience disquieted, were 
the associates and intimate friends of Catiline. And if any 
one, as yet of unblemished character, fell into his society, he 
was presently rendered, by daily intercourse and temptation, 
similar and equal to the rest. But it was the young whose 
acquaintance he chiefly courted ; as their minds, ductile and 
unsettled from their age, were easily ensnared by his strata- 
gems. For as the passions of each, according to his years, 
appeared excited, he furnished mistresses to some, bought 
horses and dogs for others, and spared, in a word, neither his 
purse nor his character, if he could but make them his devoted 
and trustworthy supporters. 

His crimes appear to me to have been the chief cause of 
hurrying forward the conspiracy. For his guilty mind, at 
peace with neither gods nor men, found no comfort either 
waking or sleeping ; so effectually did conscience desolate his 
tortured spirit. His complexion, in consequence, was pale, 
his eyes haggard, his walk sometimes quick and sometimes 
slow ; and distraction was plainly apparent in every feature 
and look. 

The young men, whom, as I said before, he had enticed to 
join him, he initiated, by various methods, in evil practices. 
From among them he furnished false witnesses, and forgers of 
signatures ; and he taught them all to regard, with equal un- 
concern, honor, property, and danger. At length, when he 
had stripped them of all character and shame, he led them to 
other and greater enormities. If a motive for crime did not 
readily occur, he incited them, nevertheless, to circumvent and 
murder inoffensive persons, just as if they had injured him; for, 
lest their hand or heart should grow torpid for want of employ- 
ment, he chose to be gratuitously wicked and cruel. 

Depending on such accomplices and adherents, and knowing 
that the load of debt was everywhere great, and that the vete- 
rans of Sylla, having spent their money too liberally, and re- 
membering their spoils and former victory, were longing for 
a civil war, Catiline formed the design of overthrowing the 
government. There was no army in Italy ; Pompey was fight- 
ing in a distant part of the world ; he himself had great hopes 
36 



422 CAIUS SALUSTIUS crispus. [b. c. 86-34. 

of obtaining the consulship ; the senate was wholly off its 
guard ; everything was quiet and tranquil ; and all these cir- 
cumstances were exceedingly favorable for Catiline. 



CATO'S SPEECH IN THE SENATE UPON THE PUNISHMENT DUE THE 
CONSPIRATORS. 

" My feelings, Conscript Fathers, differ extremely from some 
of those who have spoken, when I contemplate our circum- 
stances and dangers, and when I revolve in my mind the senti- 
ments of some who have spoken before me. Those speakers, 
as it seems to me, have considered only how to punish the 
traitors who have raised war against their country, their 
parents, their altars, and their homes ; but the state of affairs 
warns us rather to secure ourselves against them, than to take 
counsel as to what sentence we should pass upon them. Other 
crimes you may punish after they have been committed ; but 
as to this, unless you prevent its commission, you will, when it 
has once taken effect, in vain appeal to justice. When the 
city is taken, no power is left to the vanquished. 

"But, in the name of the immortal gods, I call upon you 
who have always valued your mansions and villas, your statues 
and pictures, at a higher price than the welfare of your coun- 
try ; if you wish to preserve those possessions, of whatever 
kind they are, to which you are attached ; if you wish to 
secure quiet for the enjoyment of your pleasures, arouse your- 
selves, and act in defence of your country. TTe are not now 
debating on the revenues, or on injuries done to our allies, but 
our liberty and our life are at stake. 

"Often, Conscript Fathers, have I spoken at great length 
in this assembly ; often have I complained of the luxury and 
avarice of our citizens, and, by that very means, have incurred 
the displeasure of many. I, who never excused to myself, or 
to my own conscience, the commission of any fault, could not 
easily pardon the misconduct, or indulge the licentiousness, of 
others. But though you little regarded my remonstrances, 
yet the republic remained secure; its own strength was proof 
against your remissness. The question, however, at present 
under discussion, is not whether we live in a good or bad state 
of morals ; nor how great, or how splendid, the empire of the 
Roman people is ; but whether these things around us, of 
whatever value they are, are to continue our own, or to fall, 
with ourselves, into the hands of the enemy. 



B. 0. 86-34.] CAIUS SALUSTIUS CRISPUS. 423 

11 In snch a case, does any one talk to me of gentleness and 
compassion ? For some time past, it is true, we have lost the 
real names of things; for to lavish the property of others is 
called generosity, and audacity in wickedness is called heroism; 
and hence the state is reduced to the brink of ruin. But let 
those, who thus misname things, be liberal, since such is the 
practice, out of the property of our allies; let them be merciful 
to the robbers of the treasury ; but let them not lavish our 
blood, and, whilst they spare a few criminals, bring destruction 
on all the guiltless. 

"Caius Caesar, a short time ago, spoke in fair and elegant 
language, before this assembly, on the subject of life and 
death ; considering as false, I suppose, what is told of the 
dead ; that the bad, going a different way from the good, in- 
habit places gloomy, desolate, dreary, and full of horror. He 
accordingly proposed that the property of the conspirators should 
be confiscated, and themselves kept in custody in the municipal 
towns; fearing, it seems, that, if they remain at Rome, they 
may be rescued either by their accomplices in the conspiracy, 
or by a hired mob ; as if, forsooth, the mischievous and profli- 
gate were to be found only in the city, and not through the 
whole of Italy ; or as if desperate attempts would not be more 
likely to succeed where there is less power to resist them. His 
proposal, therefore, if he fears any danger from them, is ab- 
surd; but if, amidst such universal terror, he alone is free 
from alarm, it the more concerns me to fear for you and myself. 

"Be assured, then, that when you decide on the fate of 
Lentulus and the other prisoners, you at the same time deter- 
mine that of the army of Catiline, and of all the conspirators. 
The more spirit you display in your decision, the more will 
their confidence be diminished ; but if they shall perceive you 
in the smallest degree irresolute, they will advance upon you 
with fury. 

"Do not suppose that our ancestors, from so small a com- 
mencement, raised the republic to greatness merely by force 
of arms. If such had been the case, we should enjoy it in a 
most excellent condition ; for of allies and citizens, as well 
as arms and horses, we have a much greater abundance than 
they had. But there were other things which made them 
great, but which among us have no existence : such as indus- 
try at home, equitable government abroad, and minds impartial 
in council, uninfluenced by any immoral or improper feeling. 
Instead of such virtues, we have luxury and avarice ; public 
distress, and private superfluity ; we extol wealth, and yield 



424 CAIUS SALUSTIUS crispus. [b. c. 86-34. 

to indolence; no distinction is made between good men and 
bad ; and ambition usurps the honors due to virtue. Nor is 
this wonderful ; since you study each his individual interest, 
and since at home your are slaves to pleasure, and here to 
money or favor; and hence it happens that an attack is made 
on the defenceless State. 

"But on these subjects I shall say no more. Certain citi- 
zens, of the highest rank, have conspired to ruin their country; 
they are engaging the Gauls, the bitterest foes of the Roman 
name, to join in a war against us ; the leader of the enemy is 
ready to make a descent upon us ; and do you hesitate, even 
in such circumstances, how to treat armed incendiaries arrested 
within your walls ? Yes! have mercy upon them, I beg of you ; 
they are young men who have been led astray by ambition ; 
send them away, even with arms in their hands. But such 
mercy, and such clemency, if they turn those arms against you, 
will end in misery to yourselves. The case is, assuredly, dan- 
gerous, but you do not fear it ; yes, you fear it greatly, but 
you hesitate how to act, through weakness and want of spirit, 
waiting one for another, and trusting to the immortal gods, 
who have so often preserved your country in the greatest dan- 
gers. But the protection of the gods is not obtained by vows 
and effeminate supplications ; it is by vigilance, activity, and 
prudent measures, that general welfare is secured. When you 
are once resigned to sloth and indolence, it is in vain that you 
implore the gods ; for they are then indignant, and threaten 
vengeance. 

"In the days of our forefathers, Titus Manlius Torquatus, 
during a war with the Gauls, ordered his own son to be put 
to death, because he had fought with an enemy contrary to 
orders. That noble youth suffered for excess of bravery ; and 
do you hesitate what sentence to pass on the most inhuman of 
traitors ? Perhaps their former life is at variance with their 
present crime. Spare, then, the dignity of Lentulus, if he has 
ever spared his own honor or character, or had any regard for 
gods or for men. Pardon the youth of Cethegus, unless this 
be the second time that he has made war upon his country. 
As to Gabinius, Statilius, Cceparius, why should I make any 
remark upon them ? Had they ever possessed the smallest 
share of discretion, they would never have engaged in such a 
plot against their country. 

"In conclusion, Conscript Fathers, if there were time to 
amend an error, I might easily suffer you, since you disregard 
words, to be corrected by experience of consequences. But 






B. 0. 70-19.] VIRGIL. 425 

we are beset by dangers on all sides ; Catiline, with his army, 
is ready to devour us; whilst there are other enemies within 
the walls, and in the heart of the city ; nor can any measures 
be taken, or any plans arranged, without their knowledge. 
The more necessary is it, therefore, to act with promptitude. 
What I advise, then, is this : that since the State, by a treason- 
able combination of abandoned citizens, has been brought into 
the greatest peril ; and since the conspirators have been con- 
victed on the evidence of Titus Volturcius, and the deputies 
of the Allobroges, and on their own confession, of having con- 
certed massacres, conflagrations, and other horrible and cruel 
outrages, against their fellow-citizens and their country, pun- 
ishment be inflicted, according to the usage of our ancestors, 
on the prisoners who have confessed their guilt, as on men con- 
victed of capital crimes." 



VIRGIL. 
70—19 b. c. 



Publius Virgilius Maro was born at the small village of Andes, 
near Mantua, on the 15th of October, B. C. 70. His father, Virgilius 
Maro, was an opulent farmer, and gave his son a liberal Greek and 
Latin education at Cremona and Milan, and bequeathed to him the 
family estate at Mantua. But the second Triumvirate, in order to 
retain their soldiers in allegiance, gave them eighteen of the principal 
towns in Italy which had adhered to the republican cause, and among 
these were Venusium and Cremona ; and the neighborhood of Mantua 
to the latter place insured it a fate scarcely less deplorable at the 
hands of the lawless soldiery. Virgil was thus placed in the same 
circumstances as Horace ; — and Tibullus and Propertius shared a 
similar misfortune. By whose intercession he regained his patri- 
mony, authors are not agreed. Asinius Pollio, and Maecenas, the 
celebrated patron of literature, have the best authorities in their 
favor. This is the subject of the first Eclogue : the poet is probably 
represented in the character of Tityrus, and the poem presents a 
lively picture of the surprise and gratitude of an outcast who finds 
himself suddenly restored to his domestic comforts, and the hapless 
condition of the houseless Meliboeus, taking his last survey of his 
desolate hearth. But the poet's estate was again seized by the 

36* 



426 virgil. [b. c. 70-19. 

rapacious military, and lie himself was compelled to seek his safety 
by flight to Rome. However, he finally succeeded in again recovering 
his property. 

Virgil became acquainted with Maecenas about the year B. C. 40 ; 
and Horace, in his first satire, describing the journey from Rome to 
Brundusium (written probably in B.C. 38), mentions Virgil as one 
of the party. He commenced his most finished work, his Georgics, 
about the year B. C. 37, or when he was forty-three years of age. 
This was written at the suggestion of Maecenas, who wished him to 
try his strength on something higher than his Eclogues. His largest 
work, the JEneid, he began about B. C. 27, and finished the greater 
part of it in five or six years. When Augustus was returning from 
Samos, where he had spent the winter of B. C. 20, he met Virgil at 
Athens. The poet had intended to make a tour of Greece, but he 
changed his plan, and accompanied the emperor to Megara, and thence 
to Italy. His health, which had been long declining, was now com- 
pletely broken, and he died soon after his arrival at Brundusium, on 
the 22d of September, B. C. 19, not having quite completed his fifty- 
first year. It is said that in his last illness he wished to burn the 
iEneid, to which he had not given the finishing touches, but his 
friends would not allow this to be done. 

The poet left behind a considerable property. He used his wealth 
liberally, and his library was accessible to all students. It was his 
custom to send to his parents a present of money every year as long 
as they lived. He was modest and retiring, and his moral character 
was free from reproach. He was happy alike in his fortune and his 
friends. Munificent patronage gave him ample means of enjoyment 
and of leisure, and he had the friendship of all the most accom- 
plished men of his day. His fame, which was established in his 
lifetime, was cherished after his death as an inheritance in which 
every Roman had a share ; and his works became school-books even 
before the death of Augustus, and have remained such ever since. 

The ten short pastoral poems of Virgil, calfed sometimes Bucolica, 1 
and sometimes Eclogues, or " Selections," were his earliest works, and 
were probably all composed between B. C. 41 and B. C. 37. They are 
written in imitation of Theocritus, with the exception of the fourth, 
entitled Pollio. This is a most extraordinary poem, allegorical, mythi- 
cal, half historical and prophetical, and has been the subject of endless 
conjecture. Whom it was intended to commemorate is yet unsettled ; 

1 From &ovc, an ox, and homoo, to tend; literally, one who tends cattle, a 
herdsman. 






B. C. 10-19.] VIRGIL. 427 

some say young Marcellus, others a son of Pollio, and others a son of 
Augustus ; while some have said even Augustus himself. What is 
principally worthy of notice in the poem, is its striking coincidence 
with the sacred Scriptures. We know that the Romans had access to 
the Scriptures of the Old Testament through the Septuagint, notwith- 
standing the universal contempt entertained for the Jews ; and that 
much of the fabulous history of the heathen world is corrupted from 
the Hebrew Scriptures. That Virgil was acquainted with the pro- 
phetical writings of Isaiah no one, I think, who reads the Pollio can 
doubt. So thought Pope, and hence his masterly imitation and para- 
phrase in his Messiah. 

The Georgica* (Georgics), or " Agricultural Poems," is a didactic poem 
in four books, dedicated to Maecenas. In the first book he treats of 
the cultivation of the soil ; in the second, of fruit trees ; in the third, 
of horses and other cattle ; and in the fourth, of bees. It gives us the 
most finished specimen of the Latin hexameter which we have. It is 
acknowledged by scholars to stand at the head of all Virgil's works, 
and is certainly the most elaborate and extraordinary instance of 
power in embellishing a most barren subject, which human genius 
has ever afforded. The commonest precepts of farming are delivered 
with an elegance which could scarcely be attained by a poet who 
should endeavor to clothe in verse the sublimest maxims of philo- 
sophy. 

At what time Virgil projected the iEneid is uncertain, but from a 
very early age he appears to have had a strong desire of composing 
an epic poem which would be an enduring monument of his fame. 
And he has succeeded, for this poem is ranked as one of the great 
epics of the world. It is divided into twelve books, and originates 
from an old Roman tradition that iEneas and his company of Trojans 
settled in Italy, and founded the Roman nation. In the first three 
books we have the story of iEneas, who was driven by a storm on 
the coast of Africa, and hospitably received by Dido, queen of Car- 
thage, to whom he relates the fall of Troy and his own wanderings. 
In the fourth book the poet has elaborated the attachment of Dido to 
iEneas, the departure of the latter in obedience to the will of the 
gods, and the love of Dido, which ended in hatred and suicide. The 
fifth book contains the visit to Sicily, and the sixth the landing of 
iEneas at Cumse, in Italy, and his descent into the infernal regions, 
where he sees his father Anchises, and has a prophetic vision of the 
glorious destinies of his race, and of the future heroes of Rome. The 

1 From the Greek yt^yoc, a tiller of the ground, a 



428 virgil. [b. c. 70-19. 

last six books recount the struggles of JEneas in Italy, and are 
modelled on the battles of the Iliad. Latinus, the king of the Latini, 
offers the Trojan hero his daughter Lavinia in marriage ; she had 
been betrothed to Turnus, the warlike king of the Rutuli ; and hence 
the contest between the two, which ended in the death of Turnus, 
who falls by the hand of iEneas, as Hector fell by the hand of 
Achilles. 1 

"Availing himself of the pride and superstition of the Roman people, 
which never abounded more than during the Augustan age, the poet 
traces the origin and establishment of the 'eternal city' to those heroes 
and actions which had enough in them of what was human and ordi- 
nary to excite the sympathy of his countrymen ; intermingled with 
persons and circumstances of an extraordinary and superhuman cha- 
racter, to awaken their admiration and their awe. No subject could 
have been more happily chosen. It has been admired too for its 
perfect unity of action ; for while the episodes command the richest 
variety of description, they are always subordinated to the main object 
of the poem, which is to impress the divine authority under which 
JEneas first settled in Italy. The wrath of Juno, upon which the 
whole fate of iEneas seems at first suspended, is at once that of a 
woman and a goddess : the passion of Dido, and her general character, 
bring us nearer the present world ; but the poet is continually intro- 
ducing higher and more effectual influences, until, by the intervention 
of the father of gods and men, the Trojan name is to be continued in 
the Roman, and thus heaven and earth are appeased. 

"The style, for sweetness and for beauty, occasionally, and in the 
author's finished passages, surpasses almost every other production of 
antiquity. The first six books of the JEneid are the most elaborate 
part of the poem. The imperfections of the work are alleged to be 
want of originality in some of the principal scenes, and defectiveness 
in the exhibition of character. That of Dido is by far the most decided 
and complete." 2 

1 The editions of Virgil are almost without number : among the best may 
be mentioned that of C. G. Heyne (on -which great pains and labor were 
bestowed), fourth edition, by Gr. P. E. Wagner, Leipsic, 1830, four volumes ; 
A. Forbiger, three volumes 8vo., Leipsic, 1845-1846. Among the numerous 
translations may be mentioned Dryden and Ogilby's. The JSneid, by C. 
Pitt, and the Bucolics and Georgics, by Joseph Warton, were published by 
Dodsley, London, 1783, four volumes 8vo. 

3 Encyclopaedia Metropolitana. 



b. c. TO— 19.] Virgil. 429 



ECLOGUE IV. 



Sicilian Muses, raise a loftier song ; 
The shrubs and lowly shades have pleased too long ; 
In sylvan strains a nobler theme declare, 
Sublimer shades, and worth a consul's care. 
At length arriv'd, in op'ning grace behold 
That great last age by Cumse's Maid foretold ! 
Its term attain'd, and refluent to its source, 
Lo ! Time's vast tide begins anew its course. 
The Virgin rules : see, Saturn's reign reviv'd! 
And a new offspring, from high heav'n deriv'd, 
That boy, by whom the iron race shall cease, 
And yield the world to golden days of peace. 
chaste Lucina ! thou but speed his birth, 
And lo, thine own Apollo rules the earth ! 
Pollio ! thine eye shall see the youth assume 
That proudest glory of his mighty doom ; 
And the new age its splendid course shall date 
From the bright epoch of thy Consulate ! 
Thenceforth, of conscious crime, if aught remain, 
Awaken'd mercy shall remit the pain. 
To Him a life, the life of Gods, is giv'n, 
Born to hold converse with the powers in heav'n ; 
While, o'er a peaceful and a smiling earth 
He sways his sceptre in his Father's worth. 



Child ! unto thee shall the uncultured field 
In festive grace a natal off'ring yield ; 2 

1 This version of the "Pollio" is taken from "Observations in Illustration 
of Virgil's celebrated Fourth Eclogue, by Granville Penn, London, 1810," 
pp. 444. Mr. Penn thinks that it "was written in honor of the birthday of 
Octavianus, afterwards Augustus Csesar, when he had recently laid the first 
solid foundation of sovereign power, upon which he shortly after erected the 
Imperial Monarchy of Rome." But, though the classical scholar will be 
well repaid for the perusal of his book, yet the authorities are against him ; 
for it is an undoubted fact that from the time of the poet down, the ancients 
never thought of any other child than a son of Asinius Pollio for this 
Eclogue. This Pollio (B. C. 76-A. D. 4) was a Roman consul, and it was 
during his consulship that Virgil addressed to him this celebrated poem. 
He deserves honorable mention in the literary history of Rome, not so much 
on account of his works (all now lost) as for the encouragement he gave to 
literature. He was not only a patron of Virgil and Horace, and other great 
poets and writers, but he has the honor of having been the first to establish 
a public library at Rome. 

3 'Tis impossible to forbear observing the great similitude of this passage, 
and that famous one of Isaiah : — 

"The wilderness and the solitary place shall be glad for them; and the 
desert shall rejoice and blossom as the rose' ' — chap. xxxv. ver. 1. ' ' The glory 



430 virgil. [b. c. 70-19. 

With wreathed Ivy, Baccar's flowers entwine ; 

And Colocasia with Acanthus join. 

The burthen'd Goats shall bear their milky store 

Unurged, unsought, spontaneous, to thy door : 

No Lion fierce the roving herd dismay : 

Thy cradle-twigs shall sprout with blossoms gay. 

Thine infant sport no noxious bane disturb, 

The serpent dead, and dead each pois'nous herb : 

Assyrian blooms shall shed, in eastern pride, 

Their spicy fragrancy on ev'ry side. 



But when thy growing years have learn'd to read 
Thy father's acts, and each heroic deed ; 
Soon as thy tutor'd mind is taught to know 
The meed that virtue only can bestow ; 
Shall the full plain its yellow harvests send, 
And the wild brakes with purple clusters bend ; 
From the hard oak the honey's stream distil, 
In luscious drops, like ev'ning dews. But still, 
Some trace of iron times will yet remain ; 
For man will yet defy the stormy main, 
Encircle towns with walls, and rudely tear 
Earth's parent bosom with the iron share. 
Again, the chosen chiefs will Tiphys guide 
In fleeting Argo thro' the briny tide ; 
Man still will seek his fellow to destroy ; 
Again, Achilles strive to ruin Troy. 



Hence, when thine age, confirmed in manhood's force, 
Hath reach'd that destin'd period of thy course, 
No vessel more shall cross the wat'ry plain ; 
The sea no more shall lure with hope of gain. 
Spontaneous, in each clime each soil shall grow 
All that earth's amplest bounty can bestow. 

of Lebanon stall come unto thee, the fir-tree, the pine-tree, and the box 
together" — chap. xi. ver. 13. " The wolf also shall dwell with the lamb, and 
the leopard shall lie down with the kid ; and the calf, and the young lion, and 
the fatling together, and a little child shall lead them. And the cow and the 
bear shall feed : their young ones shall lie down together : and the lion shall 
eat straw like the ox. And the sucking child shall play upon the hole of 
the asp, and the weaned child shall put his hand on the adder's den" — chap. 
xi. vers. 6, 7, 8. 

' ' How much inferior is Virgil's poetry to Isaiah's. The former has nothing 
comparable to these beautiful strokes: 'that a little child shall lead the 
lion ; — that the very trees of the forest shall come to pay adoration.' Virgil 
says only accidet et serpens; Isaiah adds a circumstance inimitably pic- 
turesque, that the sucking child shall play upon the hole of the asp ; and 
that the weaned child, a little older and beginning to make use of its hands, 
shall put his fingers on the adder's den. There are certain critics who would 
never cease to admire these circumstances and strokes of nature, if they had 
not the ill fortune to be placed in the Bible." — Warton. 



B. C. YO-19.] VIRGIL. 431 

The glebe no more shall show the harrow'd line ; 
No more the primer's blade shall wound the vine ; 
Freed from all toil, the sturdy hind shall lead 
His steers, disyoked, to frolic in the mead. 
The wool no more shall shine with tint untrue ; 
The glowing Ram shall flame in native hue, 
And blushing flocks, with rich resplendent hide, 
Purple and croceous, clothe the mountain's side. 
Let golden years like these forever run ! 
Said the Fates smiling, as the threads they spun. 

Take now the honors which to Thee are giv'n, 
Offspring of Jove, favor'd Child of Heav'n ! 
See the whole world, in each revolving clime, 
With joy expectant of that coming time ! 

may my lengthen'd life's protracted end 
To scenes like these of future bliss extend ; 
And I, retaining yet my powers of verse, 
Thy matchless fame be able to rehearse ! 
Not Orpheus' strains, not Linus' should excel 
The song prepared thy lofty deeds to tell, 
Tho' either bard his parent God inspire, 
And prompt the numbers, and accord the lyre. 
Tho' Pan in Arcady contest the lays, 
In Arcady should Pan resign the bays. 

Come, boy, no more thy mother's hopes beguile ; 
Come ! learn to know thy Mother by her smile : 
Ten long and lingering months have amply brought 
Their lot of sickly care and anxious thought. 
He who ne'er knew a parent's smile of love 
Shall ne'er hold commerce with the powers above. 1 

Granville Penn. 



PRAISES OF ITALY. 

But neither Media's groves, her teeming mold, 
Fair Ganges' flood, nor Hermus thick with gold ; 
Nor all the stores Panchaia's glebe expands, 
Where spices overflow the fragrant sands ; 
Nor Bactrian, nor Arabian fields can vie 
With the blest scenes of beauteous Italy. 
Bulls breathing fire her furrows ne'er have known, 
Ne'er with the dreadful dragon's teeth were sown, 

1 The concluding lines, 

Incipe, parve puer, risu cognoscere matrem, &c, 

are better rendered by Dryden : — 

Know, then, dear boy, thy mother by her smile ; 
Enough ten months have given of pain and toil. 
Know her, dear boy— who ne'er such smile has known, 
Nor board nor bed divine 'tis his to own. 

The last sentiment alludes to the fact that it was deemed an evil omen for an 
infant, that his parents did not smile upon him at his birth. 



432 virgil. [b. c. 70-19, 

Whence sprung an iron crop, an armed train, 
With, helm and spear embattled on the plain. 
But plenteous corn she boasts, and gen'rous wine, 
The luscious olive, and the joyful kine. 
Hence o'er the plain the warrior-steed elate, 
Prances with portly pace in martial state ; 
Hence snowy flocks wash'd in thy sacred stream, 
Clitumnus, and of victims the supreme 
The mighty bull, have led thro' shouting trains 
Rome's pompous triumphs to the lofty fanes. 
The fields here Spring's perpetual beauties crown, 
Here Summer shines in seasons not her own. 
Twice teem the cattle each revolving year, 
And twice the trees their blushing burthen bear. 

Behold, around what far-fam'd cities rise, 
What stately works of Daedal artifice ! 
With tow'red towns here craggy cliffs are crown'd, 
Here rivers roll old moss-grown ramparts round. 
And shall my song her twofold ocean boast, 
That pours its riches forth on either coast ? 
Her spacious lakes ; first, mighty Larius, thee ? 
And thee, Benacus, roaring like a sea ? 
Her ports and harbors, and the Lucrine mounds, 
From which the beating main indignant bounds ; 
Where Julius' flood of bonds impatient raves, 
And how Avernus' straits confine the Tuscan waves ? 
Her fields with brass and silver veins have glow'd, 
Her pregnant rocks with gold abundant flow'd. 
She birth to many a race, in battle brave, 
The Marsian, and the Sabine soldier, gave. 
Hers are Liguria's sons, untaught to yield, 
And hers the Volsci, skill'd the spear to wield ; 
The Decian hence, and Marian heroes came, 
Hence sprung thy line, Camillus, mighty name : 
Hence rose the Scipios, undismay'd in fight, 
And thou, great Caesar, whose victorious might, 
From Rome's high walls, on Asia's utmost plains, 
Aw'd into peace fierce India's rage restrains. 

All hail, Saturnian soil ! immortal source 
Of mighty men and plenty's richest stores ! 
For thee my lays inquisitive impart 
This useful argument of ancient art ; 
For thee, I dare unlock the sacred spring, 
And thro' thy streets Ascrean numbers sing. 

Georgics II. Warton. 



PRAISE OF RURAL LIFE. 

Thrice happy swains ! whom genuine pleasures bless, 
If they but knew and felt their happiness ! 
From wars and discord far, and public strife, 
Earth with salubrious fruits supports their life : 






B. C. 70-19.] VIRGIL. 433 

Tho' high-arch'd domes, tho' marble halls they want, 

And columns cased in gold and elephant, 

In awful ranks where brazen statues stand, 

The polish'd works of Grecia's skilful hand ; 

Nor dazzling palace view, whose portals proud 

Each morning vomit out the cringing crowd ; 

Nor wear the tissu'd garment's cumb'rous pride, 

Nor seek soft wool in Syrian purple dy'd, 

Nor with fantastic luxury defile 

The native sweetness of the liquid oil ; 

Yet calm content, secure from guilty cares, 

Yet home-felt pleasure, peace, and rest, are theirs ; 

Leisure and ease, in groves, and cooling vales, 

Grottoes, and bubbling brooks, and darksome dales ; 

The lowing oxen, and the bleating sheep, 

And under branching trees delicious sleep ! 

There forests, lawns, and haunts of beasts abound, 

There youth is temperate, and laborious found ; 

There altars and the righteous gods are fear'd, 

And aged sires by duteous sons rever'd. 

There Justice linger'd ere she fled mankind, 

And left some traces of her reign behind ! 

Georgics II. Warton. 



VARIOUS EMPLOYMENTS OF THE BEE COMMUNITY. 

If little things with great we may compare, 
Such are the bees, and such their busy care : 
Studious of honey, each in his degree, 
The youthful swain, the grave, experienced bee ; 
That in the field ; this in affairs of state, 
Employed at home, abides within the gate, 
To fortify the combs, to build the wall, 
To prop the ruins, lest the fabric fall : 
But late at night, with weary pinions come 
The laboring youth, and heavy laden home. 
Plains, meads, and orchards, all the day he plies ; 
The gleans of yellow thyme distend his thighs : 
He spoils the saffron flowers, he sips the blues 
Of violets, wilding blooms, and willow dews. 
Their toil is common, common is their sleep ; 
They shake their wings when morn begins to peep ; 
Rush through the city gates without delay, 
Nor ends their work but with declining day : 
Then, having spent the last remains of light, 
They give their bodies due repose at night ; 
When hollow murmurs of their evening bells 
Dismiss the sleepy swains, and toll them to their cells. 

Georgics IV. JDryde 

SI 



434 virgil. [b. c. 70-19. 



^NEAS AT THE COURT OF DIDO. 

While thus, in wildering thought, abstract he stood 
Still gazing, to the temple Dido came 
On foot, in radiant beauty, by a crowd 
Of noble youths escorted : on the bank 
Of famed Eurotas so, or Cynthus' heights, 
Amid her circling choir of Oreads, sports 
Quivered Diana, and o'ertops them all, 
While, through Latona's heart, thrills silently 
A mother's joy : so lovely, Dido looked ; 
Amid th' attendant crowds so graceful walked 
In joyous dignity, surveying all 
Her infant realm and city rising round : 
The temple then she enters, and her seat 
Taking upon a throne, beneath the dome 
High raised, and round with men-at-arms begirt, 
Justice and laws dispenses ; and to all, 
Apportioned, or by lot, assigns their tasks 
Several ; when to the temple see approach, 
By concourse vast accompanied, Antheus, 
Sergestus, brave Cloanthus, and the chiefs 
Whom, to far distant shores, the storm so late 
Had wide dispersed. Joy fills ^Eneas' heart, 
Mingling with fear ; their friendly hands in his 
Joy bids him clasp, but fear, cautious, forbids, 
Uncertain yet the issue ; motionless, 
Therefore, he stands, in cloudy darkness mantled, 
He and Achates, and conjectures much 
His friends' adventures ; where their ships they left, 
And why they come ; for chosen men they were, 
Each vessel representing, and by crowds 
Of shouting Tyrians, to the temple, came 
Surrounded, the queen's clemency to sue. 

Admitted now, and leave obtained to speak, 
Thus, with composed aspect, Ilioneus 
Placid began : " Great queen ! by Jove ordained 
To found a city, and proud nations rule 
With just dominion, hear our humble prayer, 
And from our ships avert the threatened names. 
O spare us Trojans ! spare a pious race, 
After long wanderings, on thy coasts at last 
Cast by the stormy winds and boisterous sea ! 
Think not we aimed at plunder, or your hearths 
With hostile fire and sword to desolate ; 
For such high enterprise, nor energy 
Have we, nor strength; — unhappy, exiled sons 
Of conquered Troy. A land there is, which Greeks 
Hesperia call, once by the Oenotrian race 



B. C. 10-19.] VIRGIL. 435 

Inhabited, an ancient, fertile land, 

Powerful in arms, and from their leader's name, 

Called, by its present children, Italy : 

As thitherward we steered, Orion, wrapt 

In clouds and storms, arose, and the wild South 

Upon our vessels bursting, these on rocks 

Hidden, dashed headlong, on false quicksands those, 

Until the envious waves o'ermastered all 

Our gallant fleet ; escaping to your shores, 

We few have landed ; but what shores, what land, 

What savage people this, which disallows 

To shipwrecked mariners its sheltering strand ? 

As enemies ye treat us, and forbid 

On your seaboard to rest our weary limbs : 

If man ye spurn, nor fear his just revenge, 

Yet recollect that gods there are above, 

Who keep a strict account of right and wrong. 

A prince we boasted once, more pious none 

Lived under cope of heaven, for justice more, 

Or deeds of arms, renowned : him if the Fates 

Preserve still living, nor his eyes yet sealed 

In night eternal we have naught to fear ; 

And much thou mayest rejoice, some time, that thou, 

Granting our prayer, hast of iEneas taken, 

In kindly offices, the fore-advantage : 

A welcome waits us too in Sicily's 

Cities and plains, where, of our Trojan blood, 

The good Acestes rules, illustrious : 

We ask but to refit our shattered fleet, 

Some planks, some oars here in your woods to cut ; 

Then with our missing ships, perhaps, and prince 

Recovered happily, our course pursue 

To Italy and Latium ; but if lost 

Is our best hope, and with thy son, o'erwhelmed 

In Libya's sea, thou liest, mighty stay 

Of Troy's unhappy fortunes ! then we bend 

Towards the Sicanian straits our backward course ; 

There seek our country, in Acestes there 

Our benefactor seek, and future king." 

He ceased, and loud his Dardan followers all 

Murmured assent. With modest eye abased, 

Dido, in brief, replies : "Dismiss your fears, 

Your anxious cares dismiss, ye sons of Troy : 

A stern necessity compels me use 

This strict precaution, and with frontier guards, 

My empire's tender infancy surround. 

Of the Eneadse who hath not heard ? 

Of Troy ? its race of heroes, and its war 

Disastrous ? Not to pity's call quite deaf 

Our Carthagenian hearts, nor so remote 

From this our Tyrian city doth the sun 

His morning course begin ; whether ye seek 



436 virgil. [b. c. 10-19 

Famous Hesperia and old Saturn's plains, 

Or Eryx territory and the good 

Acestes, safe ye are while here, and safe, 

With all my furthering aid, ye shall pursue 

Your onward voyage : if to settle here 

Ye rather choose, high on our Libyan strand 

Draw up your ships, and our new city share, 

Trojan with Tyrian joined, one family: 

And much I wish the same tempestuous South 

Had hither driven iEneas, whom to seek," 

Through all my coasts and Libya's confines round 

I will send envoys, lest perhaps, escaped 

The sea, in mountain or wild wood he strays." 

Cheered by these courteous words, Achates now 
And sire iEneas from th' insphering cloud 
Burn to break forth, and first Achates said : 
" What think'st thou, goddess-born ? all seems secure ; 
Thy fleet, thy friends recovered ; one alone 
Missing, whom in the yawning sea engulfed 
We saw : in all things else thy mother's words 
Stand verified." He said, and suddenly 
Into thin air the opening cloud dissolved, 
And forth iEneas stood, his face and bust 
In brilliant light refulgent, like a god ; 
For Venus' self had breathed upon his hair 
In graceful curls down flowing, and the light 
Of rosy youth into his eyes infused, 
And glowing cheeks : like polished ivory, 
Dazzling he stood, or silver, or the stone 
Of Paros chased in yellow rim of gold ; 
And thus the queen, and wondering crowd, addressed : 
"Him whom ye seek, Trojan iEneas see, 
In safety, rescued from the Libyan waves ! 
thou ! whom sole the woes of Troy have touched 
With gentle pity, who thy homes and hearths 
Would'st share with us, the miserable wreck 
Which Grecian swords have spared, and stormy seas ; 
Nor I iEneas, nor unanimous Troy, 
O'er the terraqueous globe now wide dispersed, 
May thank thee, gracious Dido, worthily : 
The gods, if gods there be who show respect 
To human virtue, the great gods above, 
And thine own conscious rectitude, shall pay 
Our heavy debt. Happy the age that bore, 
The parents happy that such goodness bred ! 
Long as the river to the sea shall run, 
And the slow mountain shadow o'er the vale 
Glide punctual ; long as the nutrient sky 
Shall feed the stars, so long thy glorious name, 
Honor, and praise shall last, what land soe'er, 
What fated haven of rest, JEneas calls." 
He said, and with his right hand, greeting, caught 



B. 0. 70-19.] VIRGIL. 431 

Ilioneus, Serestus with his left ; 

Then salutation like to Gyas gave, 

And brave Cloanthus, and. the other chiefs. 

Mneid I. 625—780. 



.ffiNEAS ESCAPING FROM THE FLAMES OF TROY. 

Now rushing forth, in radiant arms, I wield 
The sword once more, and gripe the pond'rous shield. 
When, at the door, my weeping spouse I meet, 
The fair Creiisa, who embrac'd my feet, 
And clinging round them, with distraction wild, 
Reach'd to my arms my dear unhappy child : 
And oh ! she cries, if bent on death thou run, 
Take, take with thee, thy wretched wife and son ; 
Or, if one glimmering hope from arms appear, 
Defend these walls, and try thy valor here ; 
Ah ! who shall guard thy sire, when thou art slain, 
Thy child, or me, thy consort once in vain ? 
Thus while she raves, the vaulted dome replies 
To her loud shrieks, and agonizing cries. 

When lo ! a wond'rous prodigy appears, 
For while each parent kiss'd the boy with tears, 
Sudden a circling flame was seen to spread 
With beams refulgent round lulus' head ; 
Then on his locks the lambent glory preys, 
And harmless fires around his temples blaze. 
Trembling and pale we quench with bttsy care 
The sacred fires, and shake his naming hair. 
But old Anchises lifts his joyful eyes, 
His hands and voice, in transport, to the skies. 

Almighty Jove ! in glory thron'd. on high, 
This once regard us with a gracious eye ; 
If e'er our vows deserv'd thy aid divine, 
Vouchsafe thy succor, and confirm thy sign. 
Scarce had he spoke, when sudden from the pole, 
Full on the left, the happy thunders roll ; 
A star shot sweeping through the shades of night, 
And drew behind a radiant trail of light, 
That o'er the palace, gliding from above, 
To point our way, descends in Ida's grove ; 
Then left a long-continu'd stream in view, 
The track still glittering where the glory flew. 
The flame past gleaming with a bluish glare, 
And smokes of sulphur fill the tainted air. 

At this con vine 'd, arose my reverend sire, 
Address'd the gods, and hail'd the sacred fire. 
Proceed, my friends, no longer I delay, 
But instant follow where you lead the way. 
Ye gods, by these your omens, you ordain 
That from the womb of fate shall rise again, 
37* 



438 virgil. [b. c. 10-19. 

To light and life, a glorious second Troy; 
Then save this house, and this auspicious boy : 
Convinc'd by omens so divinely bright, 
I go, my son, companion of thy flight. 
Thus he — and nearer now in curling spires 
Through the long walls roll'd on the roaring fires. 
Haste, then, my sire, I cried, my neck ascend, 
With joy beneath your sacred load I bend ; 
Together will we share, where'er I go, 
One common welfare, or one common wo. 
Ourself with care will young lulus lead ; 
At safer distance you my spouse succeed ; 
Heed too these orders, ye attendant train ; 
Without the wall stands Ceres' vacant fane, 
Rais'd on a mount ; an aged cypress near, 
Preserv'd for ages with religious fear ; 
Thither, from different roads assembling, come, 
And meet embodied at the sacred dome : 
Thou, thou, my sire, our gods and relics bear ; 
These hands, yet horrid with the stains of war, 
Refrain their touch unhallow'd till the day, 
When the pure stream shall wash the guilt away. 

Now, with a lion's spoils bespread, I take 
My sire, a pleasing burthen, on my back ; 
Close clinging to my hand, and pressing nigh, 
With steps unequal tripp'd. lulus by ; 
Behind, my lov'd Creiisa took her way ; 
Through every lonely dark recess we stray : 
And I, who late th' embattled Greeks could dare, 
Their flying darts, and whole embodied war, 
Now take alarm, while horrors reign around, 
At every breeze, and start at every sound. 
With fancied fears my busy thoughts were wild 
For my dear father, and endangerd child. 

Now, to the city gates approaching near, 
I seem the sound of trampling feet to hear. 
Alarm'd my sire look'd forward thro' the shade, 
And, fly my son, they come, they come, he said : 
Lo ! from their shields I see the splendors stream ; 
And ken distinct the helmet's fiery gleam. 
And here, some envious god, in this dismay, 
This sudden terror, snatch'd my sense away. 
For while o'er devious paths I wildly trod, 
Studious to wander from the beaten road ; 
I lost my dear Cretisa, nor can tell 
From that sad moment, if by fate she fell ; 
Or sunk fatigu'd ; or straggled from the train ; 
But ah ! she never blest these eyes again ! 
Nor, till to Ceres' ancient wall we came, 
Did I suspect her lost, nor miss the dame. 
There all the train assembled, all but she, 
Lost to her friends, her father, son. and me. 



b. c. 70-19.] virgil. 439 



in 1 

plain ; j- 
gain. J 



What men, what gods did my wild fury spare ? 

At both I rav'd, and madden'd with despair. 

In Troy's last ruins did I ever know 

A scene so cruel ! such transcendent wo ! 

Our gods, my son, and father to the train 

I next commend, and hide them in the 

Then fly for Troy, and shine in arms age 

Resolv'd the burning town to wander o'er, 

And tempt the dangers that I scap'd before. 

Now to the gate I run with furious haste, 

Whence first from Ilion to the plain I past ; 

Dart round my eyes in every place in vain, 

And tread my former footsteps o'er again. 

Surrounding horrors all my soul affright ; 

And more, the dreadful silence of the night. 

Next to my house I flew without delay, 

If there, if haply there she bent her way. 

In vain — the conquering foes were enter'd there ; 

High, o'er the dome, the flames emblaze the air ; 

Fierce to devour, the fiery tempest flies, 

Swells in the wind, and thunders to the skies. 

Back to th' embattled citadel I ran, 

And search'd her father's regal walls in vain. 

Ulysses now and Phoenix I survey, 

Who guard, in Juno's fane, the gather'd prey : 

In one huge heap the Trojan wealth was roll'd, 

Refulgent robes, and bowls of massy gold ; 

A pile of tables on the pavement nods, 

Snatch'd from the blazing temples of the gods. 

A mighty train of shrieking mothers bound, 

Stood with their captive children trembling round. 

Yet more — I boldly raise my voice on high, 

And in the shade on dear Creusa cry ; 

Call on her name a thousand times in vain, 

But still repeat the darling name again. 

Thus while I rave and roll my searching eyes, 

Solemn and slow I saw her shade arise, 

The form enlarg'd majestic mov'd along ; 

Fear rais'd my hair, and horror chain'd my tongue ; 

Thus as I stood amaz'd, the heavenly fair 

With these mild accents sooth'd my fierce despair. 

Why with excess of sorrow raves in vain 
My dearest Lord, at what the gods ordain ? 
Oh ! could I share thy toils ! — but fate denies ; 
And Jove, dread Jove, the sov'reign of the skies. 
In long, long exile, art thou doom'd to sweep 
Seas after seas, and plough the wat'ry deep. 
Hesperia shall be thine, where Tiber glides 
Thro' fruitful realms, and rolls in easy tides. 
There shall thy fates a happier lot provide, 
A glorious empire, and a royal bride. 
Then let your sorrows for Creusa cease 
For know, I never shall be led to Greece ; 



440 virgil. [b. c. 70-19. 

Nor feel the victor's chain, nor captive's shame, 
A slave to some imperious Argive dame. 
No ! — born a princess, sprung from heav'n above, 
Allied to Venus, and deriv'd from Jove, 
Sacred from Greece, 'tis mine, in these abodes, 
To serve the glorious mother of the gods. 
Farewell ; and to our son thy care approve, 
Our son, the pledge of our commutual love. 

Thus she ; and as I wept, and wish'd to say- 
Ten thousand things, dissolv'd in air away. 
Thrice round her neck my eager arms I threw ; 
Thrice from my empty arms the phantom flew, 
Swift as the wind, with momentary flight, 
Swift as a fleeting vision of the night. 
Now, day approaching, to my longing train, 
From ruin'd Ilion I return again ; 
To whom, with wonder and surprise, I find 
A mighty crowd of new companions join'd ; 
A host of willing exiles round me stand, 
Matrons, and men, a miserable band ; 
Eager the wretches pour from every side, 
To share my fortunes on the foamy tide ; 
Valiant, and arm'd, my conduct they implore, 
To lead and fix them on some foreign shore : 
And now, o'er Ida with an early ray 
Flames the bright star, that leads the golden day. 
No hopes of aid in view, and every gate 
Possessed by Greece, at length I yield to fate. 
Safe o'er the hill my father I convey, 
And bear the venerable load away. 

JEneid II. Pitt. 



DIDO'S PASSION FOR .ENEAS. 

But anxious cares already seiz'd the queen : 
She fed within her veins a flame unseen ; 
The hero's valor, acts, and birth, inspire 
Her soul with love, and fan the secret fire. 
His words, his looks, imprinted in her heart, 
Improve the passion, and increase the smart. 
Now, when the purple morn had chas'd away 
The dewy shadows, and restor'd the day, 
Her sister first with early care she sought, 
And thus in mournful accents eas'd her thought 
" My dearest Anna ! what new dreams affright 
My lab'ring soul ! what visions of the night 
Disturb my quiet, and distract my breast 
With strange ideas of our Trojan guest ! 
His worth, his actions, and majestic air, 
A man descended from the gods declare. 
Fear ever argues a degenerate kind ; 
His birth is well asserted by his mind. 



B. C. 70-19.] VIRGIL. 441 

Then, what he suffer'd when by Fate betray'd, 
What brave attempts for falling Troy he made! 
Such were his looks, so gracefully he spoke, 
That, were I not resolv'd against the yoke 
Of hapless marriage — never to be curs'd 
With second love, so fatal was my first — 
To this one error I might yield again : 
For, since Sichaeus was untimely slain, 
This only man is able to subvert 
The fix'd foundations of my stubborn heart. 
And, to confess my frailty — my shame- 
Somewhat I find within, if not the same. 
Too like the sparkles of my former flam< 
But first let yawning earth a passage rend, 
And let me through the dark abyss descend — 
First let avenging Jove, with flames from high, 
Drive down this body to the nether sky, 
Condemn'd with ghosts in endless night to lie- 
Before I break the plighted faith I gave ! 
No ! he who had my vows shall ever have : 
For, whom I lov'd on earth, I worship in the grave. 

JEneid IV. Dryden. 



'an, 

n 



} 



iENEAS MEETS THE SHADE OF DIDO IN THE INFERNAL REGIONS. 

Not far from these Phoenician Dido stood, 
Fresh from her wound, her bosom bath'd in blood ; 
Whom when the Trojan hero hardly knew, 
Obscure in shades, and with a doubtful view, 
(Doubtful as he who sees, through dusky night, 
Or thinks he sees the moon's uncertain light) 
With tears he first approach'd the sullen shade ; 
And as his love inspired him, thus he said : 
" Unhappy queen ! then is the common breath 
Of rumor true, in your reported death, 
And I, alas ! the cause ? — By heaven, I vow, 
And all the powers that rule the realms below, 
Unwilling I forsook your friendly state, 
Commanded by the gods, and forc'd by Fate — 
Those gods, that Fate, whose unresisted might \ 
Have sent me to these regions void of light, V 
Through the vast empire of eternal night. j 

Nor dar'd I to presume, that, press'd with grief, 
My flight should urge you to this dire relief. 
Stay, stay your steps, and listen to my vows ! 
'Tis the last interview that Fate allows !" 
In vain he thus attempts her mind to move 
With tears and pray'rs, and late-repenting love. 
Disdainfully she look'd ; then turning round, 
She fix'd her eyes unmov'd upon the ground, 



442 yirgil. [b. c. 70-19. 

And, what he says and swears, regards no more, 

Than the deaf rocks, when the loud billows roar ; 

But whirl'd away to shun his hateful sight, 

Hid in the forest, and the shades of night ; 

Then sought Sichaeus through the shady grove, 

Who answer'd all her cares, and equall'd all her love. 

JEiieid VI. Dryden. 



THE PUNISHMENTS OF THE GUILTY IN HELL. 

Now to the left, iEneas darts his eyes, 
Where lofty walls with triple ramparts rise. 
There rolls swift Phlegethon, with thund'ring sound, 
His broken rocks, and whirls his surges round. 
On mighty columns rais'd, sublime are hung 
The massy gates, impenetrably strong. 
In vain would men, in vain would gods essay, 
To hew the beams of adamant away. 
Here rose an iron tow'r : before the gate, 
By night and day, a wakeful fury sate, 
The pale Tisiphone ; a robe she wore, 
With all the pomp of horror, dy'd in gore. 
Here the loud scourge and louder voice of pain, 
The crashing fetter, and the ratt ; ling chain, 
Strike the great hero with the frightful sound, 
The hoarse, rough, mingled din, that thunders round : 
Oh ! whence that peal of groans ? what pains are those ? 
What crimes could merit such stupendous woes ? 

Thus she — brave guardian of the Trojan state, 
None that are pure must pass that dreadful gate. 
When plac'd by Hecat o'er Avernus' woods, 
I learnt the secrets of those dire abodes, 
With all the tortures of the vengeful gods. 
Here Rhadamanthus holds his awful reign, 
Hears and condemns the trembling impious train. 
Those hidden crimes the wretch till death supprest, 
With mingled joy and horror in his breast, 
The stern dread judge commands him to display, 
And lays the guilty secrets bare to day ; 
Her lash Tisiphone that moment shakes ; 
The ghost she scourges with a thousand snakes ; 
Then to her aid, with many a thund'ring yell, 
Calls her dire sisters from the gulfs of hell. 

Near by the mighty Tityus I beheld, 
Earth's mighty giant son, stretch'd o'er the infernal field 
He cover'd nine large acres as he lay, 
While with fierce screams a vulture tore away 
His liver for her food, and scoop'd the smoking prey ; 
Plung'd deep her bloody beak, nor plung'd in vain, 
For still the fruitful fibres spring again, 
Swell, and renew th' enormous monster's pain. 



u 5 al 
IS, | 

i- j 



) 



B. C. TO-19.] VIRGIL. 443 

She dwells forever in his roomy breast, ~\ 

Nor gives the roaring fiend a moment's rest ; >- 

But still th' immortal prey supplies th' immortal feast. J 

Need I the Lapiths' horrid pains relate, 

Ixion's torments, or Perithoiis' fate ? 

On high a tottering rocky fragment spreads, 

Projects in air, and trembles o'er their heads. 

Stretch'd on the couch, they see with longing eyes 

In regal pomp successive banquets rise, 

While lucid columns, glorious to behold, 

Support th' imperial canopies of gold. 

The queen of furies, a tremendous guest, 

Sits by their side, and guards the tempting feast, 

Which if they touch, her dreadful torch she rears, 

Flames in their eyes, and thunders in their ears. 

They that on earth had low pursuits in view, 

Their brethren hated, or their parents slew, 

And, still more numerous, they who swell'd their store, 

But ne'er reliev'd their kindred or the poor ; 

Or in a cause unrighteous fought and bled ; 

Or perish'd in the foul adulterous bed ; 

Or broke the ties of faith with base deceit ; 

Imprison'd deep, their destin'd torments wait. 

But what their torments, seek not thou to know, 

Or the dire sentence of their endless wo. 

Some roll a stone, rebounding down the hill, 

Some hang suspended on the whirling wheel ; 

There Theseus groans in pains that ne'er expire, 

Chain'd down forever in a chair of fire. 

There Phlegyas feels unutterable wo, 

And roars incessant thro' the shades below ; 

Be just, ye mortals ! by these torments aw'd, 

These dreadful torments, not to scorn a god. 

This wretch his country to a tyrant sold, 

And barter'd glorious liberty for gold. 

Laws for a bribe he past, but past in vain, 

For those same laws a bribe repeal'd again. 

To some enormous crimes they all aspir'd ; 

All feel the torments that those crimes requir'd ! 

Had I a hundred mouths, a hundred tongues, 

A voice of brass, and adamantine lungs, 

Not half the mighty scene could I disclose, 

Repeat their crimes, or count their dreadful woes ! 

JEneid VI. Pitt. 



444 tibullus. [b. c. 54-18. 



TIBULLUS. 

54—18 b. c. 

Albius ! in whom my satires find 

A critic, most sincere and kind, 

What dost thou now on Pedan plains? 

Write verse, outvying Cassius' strains"? 

Steal, silent, through the healthful wood, 

With thoughts that fit the wise and good ? 

Thou art not body without mind ; 

The gods to thee a form assign'd, 

But form, with sense and worth comhin'd ; 

Have given thee wealth, with art to know 

How best to use what they bestow. 

Then what could fondest nurse — what more — 

For her dear foster-child — implore, 

Of wit and eloquence possest, 

In health, grace, fame, and station blest, 

A hospitable board, with friends, 

And means sufficient for his ends ? 

Horace. Book I. Epistle IV. 

Albicts Tibullus, associated with. Horace in the "bonds of friendship 
and by the sympathies of liberal pursuits, was the son of a Roman 
knight, and was horn at Rome, according to the most probable ac- 
counts, about the year 54 B. C. Of his youth and education nothing 
is known. He served under Valerius Messala in the Gallic wars, and 
on his return from his third military expedition he retired to his 
patrimonial estate near Pedum, "between Prseneste and Tibur. This 
property, like the estates of Virgil and Horace, had been either entirely 
or partially confiscated during the civil wars ; yet Tibullus retained 
or recovered part of it, and spent there the best part of his short, but 
peaceful and happy life. It was here that he elaborated those beautiful 
productions which have immortalized his name, and which breathe, in 
the refined language of his period, the spirit of unambitious domestic 
enjoyment, the pure love of nature and country life, and the delights 
of peace, retirement, affection, and friendship. It was here that he 
lived in the society of the most eminent contemporary poets, and here 
that he died about the year 18 B. C. 

Tibullus is confessedly the master of that species of elegy which 
turns on love. His thoughts are natural, tender, and mingled with a 
soft characteristic melancholy. He abounds with delicate strokes of 
sentiment and expression ; his language is pure and free from conceit ; 
and his style has an easy and flowing simplicity, without any of the 
slovenly familiarity of Ovid. If he has not escaped the taint of Roman 
manners, he is at least free from the grosser license of his contempo- 
raries ; and his pastoral imagery, although perhaps recurring with 



B. C. 54-18.] TIBULLUS. 445 

something of a monotonous frequency, yet gives an air of purity to 
his passion. 1 



TO DELIA. 

Let others heap of wealth a shining store, 
And, much possessing, labor still for more ; 
Let them disquieted with dire alarms 
Aspire to win a dangerous fame in arms ; 
Me tranquil poverty shall lull to rest, 
Humbly secure and indolently blest ; 
Warm'd by the blaze of my own cheerful hearth 
I'll waste the wintry hours in social mirth ; 
In Summer pleas'd, attend the harvest toils, 
In Autumn, press the vineyard's purple spoils, 
And oft to Delia in my bosom bear 
Some kid or lamb which wants its mother's care : 
With her I'll celebrate each gladsome day 
When swains their sportive rites to Bacchus pay ; 
With her new milk on Pales ' altar pour, 
And deck, with ripen'd fruits, Pomona's bower. 
At night how soothing would it be to hear, 
Safe in her arms, the tempest howling near ; 
Or, while the wintry clouds their deluge pour, 
Slumber, assisted by the beating shower ! 
Ah! how much happier than the fool who braves, 
In search of wealth, the black tempestuous waves ! 
While I, contented with my little store, 
In tedious voyage seek no distant shore ; 
But idly lolling on some shady seat, 
Near cooling fountains, shun the Dog-star's heat : 
For what reward so rich could Fortune give 
That I by absence should my Delia grieve ? 
Let great Messala shine in martial toils, 
And grace his palace with triumphal spoils, 
Me beauty holds in strong though gentle chains, 
Far from tumultuous war and dusty plains. 
With thee, my love ! to pass my tranquil days 
How would I slight ambition's painful praise ! 
How would I joy with thee, my love ! to yoke 
The ox, and feed my solitary flock ! 
On thy soft breast might I but lean my head, 
How downy would I think the woodland bed ! 
Hard were his heart who thee, my fair ! could leave 
For all the honors prosp'rous war can give ; 
Though through the vanquished east he spread his fame, 
And Parthian tyrants tremble at his name ; 

1 Elton. Editions : Lachmann, Berolini, 1829. Laehmann's edition, with 
commentary by Ludolphus Dissenus, Gottingen, 1835. 

38 



446 tibullus. [b. c. 54-18. 

Though bright in arms, while hosts around him bleed, 
With martial pride he prest the foaming steed. 
No pomps like these my humble vows require ; 
With thee I'll live, and in thy arms expire. 
Thee, may my closing eyes in death behold ! 
Thee may my falt'ring hand yet strive to hold ! 
Then, Delia ! then thy heart will melt in wo, 
Then, o'er my breathless clay thy tears will flow ; 
Thy tears will flow, for gentle is thy mind, 
Nor dost thou think it weakness to be kind. 
But ah ! fair mourner ! I conjure thee, spare 
Thy heaving breasts and loose dishevell'd hair ; 
Wound not thy form, lest on th' Elysian coast 
Thy anguish should disturb my peaceful ghost. 

But now, nor death nor parting should employ 
Our sprightly thoughts, or damp our bridal joy: 
We'll live, my Delia ! and from life remove 
All care, all business, but delightful love. 
Old age in vain those pleasures would retrieve 
Which youth alone can taste, alone can give : 
Then let us snatch the moment to be blest ; 
This hour is Love's — be Fortune's all the rest. 

Lord Lyttleton. 



THE GOLDEN AGE. 

How blest the man in Saturn's golden days, 

Ere distant climes were join'd by lengthen'd ways. 

Secure the pines upon the mountains grew, 

Nor bounding barks o'er ocean's billows flew ; 

Then every clime a wild abundance bore, 

And man liv'd happy on his native shore ; 

Then had no steer submitted to the yoke ; 

Then had no steed to feel the bit been broke ; 

No house had gates, (blest times !) and, in the grounds 

No scanty landmarks parcell'd out the bounds ; 

From every oak redundant honey ran, 

And ewes spontaneous bore their milk to man ; 

No deathful arms were forg'd, no war was wag'd, 

No rapine plunder'd, no ambition rag'd. 

How chang'd, alas ! Now cruel Jove commands ; 

Gold fires the soul, and falchions arm our hands ; 

Each day the main unnumber'd lives destroys, 

And slaughter, daily, o'er her myriads joys. 

Yet spare me, Jove ; I ne'er disown'd thy sway; 

I ne'er was perjur'd — spare me, Jove, I pray. 

But, if the Sisters have pronounc'd my doom, 

Be this inscrib'd upon my humble tomb : 

" Following Messala over earth and wave, 

Here rests Tibullus, in his early grave." 

Grainger. 



B. C. 54-18.] TIBULLUS. 44*7 



TO NEiERA. 

Why should my vows, Nesera ! fill the sky, 

And the sweet incense blend with many a prayer ? 

Not forth to issue on the gazing eye 
From marble vestibule of mansion fair. 

Not that unnumber'd steers may turn my field, 
And the kind earth its copious harvests lend : 

But that with thee the joys of life may yield 
Their full satiety, till life has end. 

And, when my days have measured out their light, 

And, naked, I must Lethe's bark survey ; 
I on thy breast may close my fading sight, 

And feel my dying age fall soft away. 

For what avails the pile of massive gold ? 

"What the rich glebe by thousand oxen plough'd ? 
Roofs, that the Phrygian pillars vast uphold, 

Teenarian shafts, Carystian columns proud ? 

Mansions, whose groves might seem some temple's wood ; 

The gilded cornice, or the marble floor ? 
Pearls glean'd from sands of Persia's ruddy flood, 

Sidon's red fleece, and all the crowd adore ? 

For envy clings to these: the crowd still gaze, 

Charm'd with false shows, and love with little skill : 

Not wealth the cares of human souls allays, 
Since Fortune shifts their happiness at will. 

With thee, oh sweet Neeera ! want were bliss ; 

Without thee I the gifts of kings disdain : 
Oh clear the light ! blest day, that brings me this ; 

Thrice blest, that yields thee to my arms again ! 

If to my vows for this thy sweet return, 

Love's God kind listen, nor avert his ear ; 
Then Lydia's river, rolling gold, Pll spurn : 

Kingdoms and wealth of worlds shall poor appear. 

Seek these who may : a frugal fare be mine : 
With my dear consort let me safely dwell : 

Come, Juno ! to my timid prayers incline ! 
Come, Venus ! wafted on thy scalloped shell ! 

But, if the Sister Fates refuse my boon, 

Who draw the future day with swift-spun thread, 

Hell to its gulfy rivers call me soon, 

To sluggish lurid lakes, where haunt the dead. 

Elton. 



448 tibullus. [b. c. 54-18. 



TO SULPICTA. 

" Never shall woman's smile have power 
To win me from those gentle charms I" — 

Thus swore I in that happy hour 

When Love first gave them to my arms. 

And still alone thou charm'st my sight — 

Still, though our city proudly shiue 
With forms and faces fair and bright, 

I see none fair or bright but thine. 

Would thou wert fair for only me 

And could'st no heart but mine allure ! — 

To all men else unpleasing be, 
So shall I feel my prize secure. 

Oh love like mine ne'er wants the zest 

Of others' envy, others' praise ; 
But, in its silence safely blest, 

Broods o'er a bliss it ne'er betrays. 

Charm of my life ! by whose sweet power 
All cares are hush'd, all ills subdued — 

My light, in even the darkest hour, 
My crowd in deepest solitude ! 

No ; not though Heaven itself sent down 
Some maid of more than heavenly charms, 

With bliss undreamt thy bard to crown, 
Would I for her forsake those charms. 

Thomas JMoore. 



CONTENT. 

Let the rich miser gather golden gain, 
And live the large possessor of the plain : 
To me the fates with sparing hand dispense, 
The humbler sweets of ease and innocence : 
Pleas'd with the joys of a secure retreat, 
While constant fires supply the cheerful seat. 
I nor paternal wealth, nor fields require, 
Nor harvests, bounteous to my wealthy sire : 
A small estate my humble wish can please, 
And a soft bed to stretch my limbs at ease. 

Dart. 



B. C. 52-12.] PROPERTIUS. 449 



PROPERTIUS. 
52—12 b. c. 

Sextus Aurelius Propertius was born about the year 52 B. C, in 
Umbria, but at what place is not known. We have no account of his 
early life, but it seems that he was destined for the legal profession, 
which he abandoned for that of poetry. He was driven by rapacious 
soldiery from his country possessions, and came to Rome, where 
he associated with Maecenas and the chief literary men of his time. 
Very few particulars of his life are known ; but it is evident that he 
began to write poetry at a very early age. The real name of his 
"Cynthia," whom he so frequently addresses, was Hostia, a poetess 
of no mean talents, and skilled in music, dancing, and needlework. 
After her death he married, and left a family of children. In what 
year he died is not exactly known ; but it was not far from 12 B. C. 

As an amatory elegiac poet Propertius takes a high rank, and among 
the ancients, opinions differed whether the preference should be given 
to him or to Tibullus. His genius, however, did not fit him for the 
sublime heights of poetry, and he had the good sense not to attempt 
them. Though he excels Ovid in warmth of passion, he never indulges 
in the grossness which disfigures some of the compositions of that 
poet. "Considered as a writer of amorous elegy," says Mr. Elton, 
"Propertius has not the unstudied easy elegance of Tibullus. His 
compositions have an air of labor and ostentatious erudition : he 
affects a close and obscure style ; delights in Grecisms and remote 
terms ; and clogs his subject by thick-sown allusions to the fables of 
heroic mythology. Yet, notwithstanding this appearance of art, a 
vehemence of feeling continually breaks out, which partakes strongly 
of the enthusiasm of true poetry ; and his starts and transitions, 
though they have been blamed, without consideration, as irregularly 
digressive, naturally express the emotions of love. It is in the stormier 
moments of passion, in the pangs of jealousy, and the torments of 
despair, that the excellence of Propertius mostly consists : a vein of 
sarcasm and bitter irony runs through many of his elegies ; and this 
is the cause why his poems have more of spirit and variety than the 
smoother elegies of Tibullus. Compared generally as poets, the genius 
of Propertius is of a more lofty stamp than that of Tibullus.'" 

1 The best editions of Propertius are those of Kuinoel, Leipsic, 1804, two 
volumes 8vo. ; Paldainus, Halle, 1827, 8vo. ; Hertzburg, Halle, 1844-5, in 
four thin volumes 8vo. 

38* 



450 propertius. [b. c. 52-12. 



TO CYNTKIA. 

Then, soon as night o'ershades my dying eyes, 
Hear my last charge : let no procession trail 

Its lengthen'd pomp, to grace my obsequies, 
No trump with empty moan my fate bewail. 

Let not the ivory stand my bier sustain, 

Nor on the embroider'd vests my corse recline ; 

Nor odor-breathing censers crowd the train : 
The poor-man's mean solemnities be mine. 

Enough of state — enough, if of my verse 

Three slender rolls be borne with pious care : 

No greater gift, attendant on my hearse, 

Can soothe the breast of hell's imperial fair. 

But thou, slow-following, beat thy naked breast, 
Nor weary faint with calling on the dead : 

Be thy last kisses to my cold lips prest, 
While alabaster vases unguents shed. 

When flames the pyre, and I am embers made, 
My relics to an earthen shell convey : 

Then plant a laurel, which the tomb may shade, 
Where my quench'd ashes rest, and grave the lay 

"What here a heap of shapeless ashes lies, 
Was once the faithful slave of Love alone :" 

Then shall my sepulchre renown'd arise 

As the betroth'd Achilles' blood-stain'd stone. 

And thou, whene'er thou yieldest thus to fate, 
Oh, dear one ! seek the memorable way, 

Already trod ; the mindful stones await 
Thy second coming, and for thee they stay. 

Meantime, whilst life endures, oh, warn'd beware 
Lest thou the buried lover should'st despise : 

Some conscious spark e'en mouldering ashes share : 
The senseless clay is touch'd by injuries. 

Ah ! would some kinder Fate, while yet I lay 
In cradled sleep, had bid me breathe my last ! 

W r hat boots the breath of our precarious day ? 
Nestor is dead, his three long ages past. 



B. C. 52-12.] TROPERTIUS. 451 

On Ilium's rampart had the Phrygian spear 
Abridged his age, and sent a swifter doom : 

He ne'er had seen his son's untimely bier, 

Nor cried, " Oh death ! why art thou slow to come ?" 

Thou thy lost friend shalt many a time deplore ; 

And love may ever last for those who die : 
Witness Adonis, when the ruthless boar 

Smote in th' Idalian brake his snowy thigh : 

'Tis said, that Venus wept her lover lost, 

Trod the dank soil, and spread her streaming hair : 

Thou too in vain would'st call upon my ghost : 
These moulder'd bones are dumb to thy despair. 

Elton. 



THE EFFIGY OF LOVE. 

Had he not hands of rare device, whoe'er 

First painted Love in figure of a boy ? 
He saw what thoughtless beings lovers were, 

Who blessings lose, whilst lightest cares employ. 

Nor added he those airy wings in vain, 

And bade through human hearts the godhead fly ; 

For we are tost upon a wavering main ; 
Our gale, inconstant, veers around the sky. 

Nor, without cause, he grasps those barbed darts, 

The Cretan quiver o'er his shoulder cast ; 
Ere we suspect a foe, he strikes our hearts ; 

And those inflicted wounds forever last. 

In me are fix'd those arrows, in my breast ; 

But sure his wings are shorn, the boy remains ; 
For never takes he flight, nor knows he rest ; 

Still, still I feel him warring through my veins. 

In these scorch'd vitals dost thou joy to dwell ? 

Oh shame ! to others let thy arrows flee ; 
Let veins untouch'd with all thy venom swell ; 

Not me thou torturest, but the shade of me. 

Destroy me — who shall then describe the fair ? 

This my light Muse to thee high glory brings : 
When the nymph's tapering fingers, flowing hair, 

And eyes of jet, and gliding feet she sings. 

Elton. 



452 propertius. [b. c. 52-12. 



TO CYNTHIA, 

WHEN IN THE COUNTRY. 

Though, with unwilling eyes, from Rome I see 

Thy mourn'd departure, my regretted love ! 
Yet I rejoice that, e'en remote from me, 

Thy feet the solitary woodlands rove- 
In the chaste fields no soft seducer sighs 

With blandishments, that force thee to thy shame ; 
No wanton brawls before thy windows rise ; 

Nor scared thy sleep with those that call thy name. 

Thou art in solitude — and all around 

Lone hills, and herds, and humble cots appear ; 

No theatres can here thy virtue wound, 

No fanes, the cause of sin, corrupt thee here. 

Thou shalt behold the steers the furrows turn ; 

The curved knife, dexterous, prune the foliaged vine ; 
Thy grains of incense in rude chapel burn, 

And see the goat fall at a rustic shrine ; 

Or, with bare leg, the rural dance essay, 

But safe from each strange lover's prying sight : 

And I will seek the chase : alternate pay 
To Venus vows, and join Diana's rite. 

Chide the bold hound ; in woodland covert lie, 
And hang the antler'd spoil on pine-tree boughs ; 

But no huge lion in his lair defy, 
Nor savage boar, with nimble onset, rouse. 

My prowess be to seize the timid hare, 

Or from my reedy quiver pierce the bird ; 
Nigh where Clitumnus winds his waters fair 

Through arching trees, and laves the snow-white herd. 

Whate'er thy sports, remember, sweetest soul ! 

A few short days will bring me to thy side ; 
For not the lonely woods, the rills that roll 

Down mossy crags in smooth, meandering tide, 

Can so divert the jealousy of fear, 

But that I name thee by some fancied name, 

While earnest in thy praise ; lest they, that hear, 
Should seek thee absent, and seduce to shame. 

Elton. 



B. C. 65-8.] HORACE. 453 



QUINTUS HORATIUS FLACCUS. 
65—8 b. c. 

Then sportive Horace caught the generous fire ; 
For Satire's bow resigned the sounding lyre : 
Each arrow polished in his hand was seen, 
And as it grew more polished grew more keen. 
He seemed to sport and trifle with the dart, 
But while he sported, drove it to the heart. 

Pope. Essay on Satire. 
Horace still charms with graceful negligence, 
And without method talks us into sense; 
Will, like a friend, familiarly convey 
The truest notions in the easiest way. 

Pope. Essay*on Criticism. 
Then Horace touched the graceful Lesbian lyre, 
And Sappho's sweetness joined with Pindar's fire. 

Fenton. 

All the material facts of the personal history of Horace are to be 
gathered from allusions scattered throughout his poems. He was 
born sixty-five years before Christ. His father was a freedinan, and 
it is said had been a slave of some member of the family of the Horatii, 
whose name, in accordance with a common usage, he had assumed. 
He had, however, been emancipated before his son was born, and had 
realized a moderate independence in the vocation of collector of 
money due on sales by auction. He had purchased a small property 
near Venusia, on the banks of the Aufidus — a most picturesque region 
of mountain, forest, and stream, where the poet was born. In his 
father's house, and in the dwellings of the Apulian peasantry around 
him, Horace had opportunities of becoming familiar with the simple 
virtues of the poor — their independence, integrity, chastity, and homely 
worth — which he loved to contrast with the luxury and vices of impe- 
rial Rome. 

Although ill able to afford the expense, his father took him to Rome 
when about twelve years old, and gave him the best education the 
capital could supply. He also went with him to all his classes, 
and gave to his son's studies a practical bearing, by directing his 
attention to the follies and vices of the luxurious and dissolute society 
around him, and showing their incompatibility with the dictates of 
reason and common sense. The manly and admirable character of his 
father gave a tone and strength to his own, which in the midst of 
manifold temptations kept him true to himself and to his genius ; and 
to the end of life the poet showed his deep gratitude for the bias thus 
early communicated. 



454 Horace. [b. c. 65-8. 

About the age of seventeen he lost this excellent father, and soon 
after he repaired to Athens to complete his education in the Greek 
literature and philosophy under native teachers. In the political lull 
between the battle of Pharsalia (B. C. 48) and the death of Julius 
Caesar (B. C. 44), Horace was enabled to devote himself without inter- 
ruption to the tranquil pursuits of the scholar. But when, after the 
latter event, Brutus came to Athens, and the youth of Rome, fired 
with zeal for the cause of Republican liberty, joined his standard, 
Horace accepted the office of Tribune in the army which was destined 
to encounter the legions of Antony and Octavianus. But for military 
life he possessed no aptitude, moral or physical, and when, on the 
plains of Philippi, the Republican party sustained a total defeat, he 
showed that he was not a good "murdering machine," called in com- 
mon parlance a soldier, by leaving his shield behind him on the battle 
field. But while the victors and the vanquished on that field have 
alike almost passed into oblivion, and exert no influence upon the 
world, the exquisite lyric strains of Horace are still the delight of 
every cultivated mind. 1 

On his return to Italy Horace found his paternal estate confiscated. 
His life was spared, but nothing was left him to sustain it but his pen 
and good spirits. He had to write for bread — Paupertas impulit audax 
ut versus facer err? — and in so doing gained much reputation, and suffi- 
cient means to purchase the place of scribe in the Quaestor's office. 
He now made his acquaintance with Virgil and Varius, and by them 
was introduced to that munificent patron of scholars, Maecenas, who 
gave to our poet a place next to his heart, while he, in return, is never 
weary of acknowledging how much he owes to his illustrious friend. 
From him he received the gift of the Sabine farm, 3 which at once 
afforded him a competency and all the pleasures of a country life. 
Never was a gift better bestowed or better requited. It at once 
prompted much of that poetry which has given fame to Maecenas, and 
has afforded ever fresh delight to successive generations. 

The life of Horace, from the time of his intimacy with Maecenas, 
appears to have been one of comparative ease and of great social 
enjoyment. Augustus soon admitted him to his favor, and in the 
profound admiration of him as a poet, could not but see that his own 
name would be most favorably known in the immortality of the poet's 

1 " Troy's doubtful walls in. ashes pass'd away. 
Yet frowns on Greece in Homer's deathless lay; 
Eorae, slowly sinking in her crumbling fanes, 
Stands all immortal in her Maro's strains." 

- "Pinching poverty compelled me to write poetry.'' — Epist. II. ii. 51. 
= It was in the valley of Urtica, twelve miles from Tibur. 



B. C. 65-8.] HORACE. 455 

writings. Horace now enjoyed the choicest society of Rome — a society 
which included Virgil, Varius, Plotins, Tibullus, Pollio, and a host of 
others — ripe scholars, and eminent in the political world. It is to this 
period that the composition of his principal odes is to he attributed, 
to which, of all his writings, he appears to have ascribed the greatest 
value, and to have rested upon them his claim to posthumous renown. 
And he was right in his estimation of them ; for in airy and playful 
grace, in variety of imagery, and exquisite felicity of expression 
(cur iosa fell citas), the odes are still unsurpassed by the writings of 
any period or language. " If they want for the most part the inspira- 
tion of a great motive, or the fervor and resonance of the finest lyrics 
of Greece, they possess in perfection the power of painting an image 
or expressing a thought in the fewest and fittest words, combined with 
a melody of cadence always delightful. It is these qualities, and a 
prevailing vein of genial and sober wisdom, which imbue them with 
a charm quite peculiar, and have given them a hold upon the minds 
of educated men, which no change of taste has shaken. 1 

"Horace's Satires and Epistles are less read, yet they are, perhaps, 
intrinsically more valuable than his lyric poetry. Never were the 
maxims of social prudence and practical good sense inculcated in so 
pleasing a form as in the Epistles. The vein of his Satire is delicate 
yet racy ; he keeps the intellect on the alert and amuses the fancy, 
while he rarely offends by indelicacy or outrages by coarseness. For 

1 The following happy remarks on the Roman Satirists, are by Professor 
Sanborn, formerly Professor of Latin in Dartmouth College, and now in the 
University of St. Louis: "The principal Roman satirists were Horace, Ju- 
venal, and Persius. Horace is merry ; Persius serious ; Juvenal indignant. 
Thus, wit, philosophy, and lofty scorn mark their respective pages. The 
satire of Horace was playful and good-natured. His arrows were always 
dipped in oil. He was a fine specimen of an accomplished gentleman. His 
sentiments were evidently modified by his associates. He was an Epicurean 
and a stoic by turns. He commended and ridiculed both sects. He prac- 
tised economy, and praised liberality. He lived temperate, and sang the 
praises of festivity. He was the favorite of the court and paid for its patron- 
age in compliments and panegyrics, unsurpassed in delicacy of sentiment 
and beauty of expression. Horace is every man's companion. He has a 
word of advice and admonition for all. His criticisms constitute most ap- 
proved canons of the rhetorician ; his sage reflections adorn the page of the 
moralist ; his humor and wit give point and force to the satirist, and his 
graver maxims are not despised by the Christian philosopher. Juvenal is 
fierce and denunciatory. His characteristics are energy, force, and indigna- 
tion ; his weapons are irony, wit, and sarcasm ; he is a decided character, 
and you must yield and sxibmit, or resist. His denunciations of vice are 
startling. He hated the Greeks, the aristocracy and woman with intense 
hatred. No author has written with such terrible bitterness of the sex. 
Unlike other satirists, he never relents. His arrow is ever on the string, 
and whatever wears the guise of woman is his game. The most celebrated 
of the modern imitators of Horace and Juvenal are Swift and Pope." 



456 Horace. [b. c. 65-8. 

fierceness of invective or loftiness of moral tone, lie is inferior to Juve- 
nal : he deals with the weaknesses and follies, rather than with the 
vices or crimes of mankind, and his appeals are directed to their judg- 
ment and practical sense rather than to their conscience. As a living 
and brilliant commentary on life ; as a storehouse of maxims of prac- 
tical wisdom, couched in language the most apt and concise ; as a 
picture of men and manners which will be always fresh and always 
true, because they were true once, and because human nature will 
always reproduce itself under analogous circumstances, his Satires 
and still more his Epistles will have a permanent value for man- 
kind." 

At no time very robust, Horace's health appears to have declined 
for some years before his death. He was doomed to see some of his 
most valued friends drop into the grave before him. Maecenas' health 
was a source of deep anxiety to him ; and one of the most exquisite 
Odes (ii. 17) addressed to that valued friend, bears in it the tone of 
one weary of life, and utters a prophecy not a little remarkable : — 

"Ah ! if untimely fate should snatch thee hence, 

Thee, of uiy soul a part, 
Why should I linger on, with deaden'd sense 3 

And ever-aching heart, 
A -worthless fragment of a fallen shrine ? 
No, no ! One day beholds thy death and mine ! 

"Think not that I have sworn a bootless oath ! 
Yes, we shall go, shall go, 
Hand linked in hand, whene'er thou leadest, both 
The last sad road below !" 

This prophecy seems to have been realized almost to the letter. 
The same year (B. C. 8) witnessed the death of both Maecenas and 
Horace. The former died in the middle of the year ; the latter on 
the 27th of November, and was buried on the Esquiline Hill, near his 
patron and friend Maecenas. 1 

1 The best edition of Horace that I have ever seen is the large octavo 
edition of 1082 pages, by Professor Anthon, which, with its valuable prole- 
gomena and excursus, and its learned historical, geographical, and critical 
notes, leaves nothing more to be desired by the scholar. Of the translations, 
Francis' for a long time held undisputed sway, and being the only complete 
translation of the poet, acquired almost the dignity of an English classic. 
Of late years, however, many versions of the Odes, quite superior to his, have 
appeared : among these are the versions of H. G. Robinson, Whyte Melville, 
R. W. O'Brien, F. W. Newman, Lord Ravensworth, and Theodore Martin. 
The two last possess eminent merit, and to the admirable life of Horace pre- 
fixed by Mr. Martin to his edition, I am much indebted for the sketch I have 
given. 



b. c. 65-8.] Horace. 457 



TO MAECENAS. 

Oil thou, whose line illustrious springs 
From old Etruria's hero kings, 
Maecenas 1 patron, friend, and guide, 
What various aims mankind divide ! 
One loves to drive, with scourge and rein, 
The chariot o'er Olympia's plain ; 
And when his glowing axle rolls 
In triumph past successive goals, 
The palm of conquest waving near 
Lifts him beyond this nether sphere. 
This man the mob's applause can raise 
To rapture by their fickle praise : 
Another covets for his stores 
The grain of Libya's threshing-floors: — 
Him who expends his daily toil 
In ploughing his paternal soil, 
No prospects of unbounded gain 
Can tempt upon the treacherous main. 
The merchant on th' Icarian seas 
Wind-bound and tost, regrets the ease 
And gardens of his native town ; 
But soon once more, the storm o'erblown, 
Refits his shattered fleet and braves, 
At lucre's call, the foaming waves. 
The sons of luxury incline 
To quaff the bowl of purple wine, 
And snatch a portion of the day 
To wile the vacant hours away. 
Where myrtles shade the noontide beam 
Beside a consecrated stream. 
Many of sterner mould there are 
Whom camps delight and horrid war 
By mothers hated, and the strain 
Of clarions on the battle-plain. 
The hunter, scorning dull repose, 
Pursues his game through wintry snows, 
And careless of his tender wife 
Expects with glee the dangerous strife, 
Whether his bloodhounds snuff the drag 
Of timid hind or antlered stag, 
Or the rude boar hath burst his net 
About the Marsian coverts set. 
Upon my learned brows be shown, 
Envied by gods, the ivy crown ; 
To me, distinguished from the throng, 
Cool grots and shady groves belong, 
Where oft the Nymphs and Fawns attend, 
If but her pipe Euterpe lend, 
39 



458 Horace. [b. c. 65-8. 

Nor Polyhymnia deny 

Her harp of Lesbian melody. 

So to the stars I shall aspire, 

By thee enrolled among the lyric quire.' 

Lord Ravensworth. 



TO PYRRHA. 

What slender youth, bedew'd with liquid odors, 
Courts thee on roses in some pleasant cave, 

Pyrrha ? For whom bind'st thou 

In wreaths thy golden hair, 
Plain in thy neatness ? 0, how oft shall he 
On faith and changed gods complain, and seas, 

Rough with black winds, and storms 

Unwonted shall admire ! 
Who now enjoys thee credulous, all gold, 
Who always vacant, always amiable 

Hopes thee, of flattering gales 

Unmindful. Hapless they, 
To whom thou untried seem'st fair! Me, in my vow'd 
Picture, the sacred wall declares to have hung 

My dank and dropping weeds 

To the stern God of Sea, 

Mik&H. 



TO PYRRHA. 

SECOND VERSION. 

Say, Pyrrha, say, what slender boy, 

With locks all dropping balm, on roses laid, 

Doth now with thee in pleasant grotto toy ? 
For whom dost thou thine amber tresses braid, 

Array'd with simple elegance ? 

Alas ! alas ! How oft shall he deplore ? 
The alter'd gods, and thy perfidious glance, 

And, new to danger, shrink, when sea waves roar, 

Chafed by the surly winds, who now 

Enjoyeth thee, all golden as thou art • 
And hopes, fond fool ! through every change, that thou 

Wilt welcome him as fondly to thy heart ! 

1 This ode is upon Horace's favorite subject — the diversity of tastes and 
employments in human life, upon the chances and changes of which he seems 
never to be weary of moralizing. 



B. C. 65-8.] HORACE. 459 

Nor doth not know, how shift the while 

The fairest gales beneath the sunniest skies ; 

Unhappy he, who weeting not thy guile, 
Basks in the sunshine of thy nattering eyes ! 

My votive tablet, duly set 

Against the temple's wall, doth witness keep, 
That I, whilere, my vestments dank and wet 

Hung at the shrine of Him that rules the deep. 

Martin. 



TO PYRRHA. 

THIRD VERSION. 

What youth, Pyrrha ! blooming fair, 
With rose-twined wreath and perfumed hair, 
Woos thee beneath yon grotto's shade, 

Urgent in prayer and amorous glance ? 
For whom dost thou thy tresses braid, 

Simple in thine elegance ? 
Alas ! full soon shall he deplore 

Thy broken faith, thine altered mien : 
Like one astonished at the roar 
Of breakers on a leeward shore, 

Whom gentle airs and skies serene 
Had tempted on the treacherous deep, 
So he thy perfidy shall weep 
Who now enjoys thee fair and kind, 
But dreams not of the shifting wind. 
Thrice wretched they, deluded and betrayed, 
Who trust thy glittering smile and Siren tongue ! 
I have escaped the shipwreck, and have hung 
In Neptune's fane my dripping vest displayed 
With votive tablet on his altar laid, 
Thanking the sea-god for his timely aid.' 

Lord B-avensivorth. 



TO LYDIA. 

Why, Lydia, why, 
I pray, by all the gods above, 

Art so resolved that Sybaris should die, 
And all for love ? 

1 "This inimitable ode has been rendered famous in English literature by 
Milton's version ; but at the risk of provoking unfriendly remarks from that 
class of critics who take the safe course of founding all their approval upon 
acknowledged excellence and authority, I must repeat the opinion expressed 
in my Preface, that this single effort of our greatest poet, in the way of trans- 
lation, is a failure." — Lord Ravens worth. 



460 Horace, [b. c. 65-8. 

Why doth he shun 
The Campus Martins' sultry glare? 

He that once reck'd of neither dust nor sun, 
Why rides he there, 

First of the brave, 
Taming the Gallic steed no more ? 

Why doth he shrink from Tiber's yellow wave ? 
Why thus abhor 

The wrestler's oil, 
As 'twere from viper's tongue distill'd ? 

Why do his arms no livid bruises soil, 
He, once so skill'd, 

The disk'or dart 
Far, far beyond the mark to hurl ? 

And tell me, tell me, in what nook apart, 
Like baby-girl, 

Lurks the poor boy, 

Veiling his manhood, as did Thetis' son, 
To 'scape war's bloody clang, while fated troy 

Was yet undone ? 

Martin. 



TO LYDIA, 

SECOND VERSION. 

By all the gods that we adore, 
Lydia, tell me, I implore, 
Why thou hastenest to destroy 
Sybaris, that impassioned boy ? 
Why hates he now the dusty plain, 
Patient late of sun and rain ? 
Why in military pride 
Hath he ceased with friends to ride, 
And why, apparelled for the course, 
Stands in stall his eager horse ? 
Why cares he now no more to lave 
His limbs in yellow Tiber's wave, 
And shuns the oiled wrestler's ring, 
Worse than the viper's venomed sting ? 
No more his stalwart shoulders feel 
The weighty breastplate's polished steel ; 
No more he proudly vaunts his art 
With whirling quoit or whizzing dart : 
Why skulks he thus, like Thetis' boy, 
Far from the fated towers of Troy, 
For fear the manly garb and arms 
Should hurry him to war's alarms ? 

Lord Tiavenswortlt. 






B C 65-8.] HORACE. 461 



ANOTHER ODE TO LYDIA. 

Swains in numbers 

Break your slumbers, 
Saucy Lydia, now but seldom, 

Ay, though at your casement nightly, 

Tapping loudly, tapping lightly, 
By the dozen once ye held them. 

Ever turning, 

Night and morning, 
Swung your door upon its hinges ; 

Now from dawn till evening's closing, 

Lone and desolate reposing, 
Not a soul its rest infringes. 

Serenaders, 

Sweet invaders, 
Scanter grow, and daily scanter, 

Singing, Lydia, art thou sleeping ? 

Lonely watch thy love is keeping 1 
Wake, oh wake, thou dear enchanter ! 

Lorn and faded, 

You, as they did, 
Woo, and in your turn are slighted ; 

Worn and torn by passion's fret, 

You, the pitiless coquette, 
Waste by fires yourself have lighted. 

Late relenting, 

Left lamenting, 
Wither'd leaves strew wintry brooks ! 

Ivy garlands greenly darkling, 

Myrtles brown with dew-drops sparkling, 
Best beseem youth's glowing looks ! 

Martin. 



TO LICINIUS. 

Receive, dear friend, the truths I teach 
So shalt thou live beyond the reach 

Of adverse Fortune's power ; 
Not always tempt the distant deep, 
Nor always timorously creep 

Along the treacherous shore. 

He that holds fast the golden mean, 
And lives contentedly between 
39* 



462 Horace. O c. 65-8. 

The little and the great, 
Feels not the wants that pinch the poor, 
Nor plagues that haunt the rich man's door, 

Embittering all his state. 

The tallest pines feel most the power 
Of wintry blasts ; the loftiest tower 

Comes heaviest to the ground ; 
The bolts that spare the mountain's side, 
His cloud- capt eminence divide, 

And spread the ruin round. 

The well-inform'd philosopher 
Rejoices with an wholesome fear, 

And hopes, in spite of pain ; 
If Winter bellow from the north, 
Soon the sweet Spring comes dancing forth, 

And Nature laughs again. 

What if thine heaven be overcast ? 
The dark appearance will not last ; 

Expect a brighter sky ; 
The god, that strings the silver bow, 
Awakes sometimes the Muses too, 

And lays his arrows by. 

If hindrances obstruct thy way, 
Thy magnanimity display, 

And let thy strength be seen ; 
But oh ! if Fortune fill thy sail 
With more than a propitious gale, 

Take half thy canvas in. 1 

Coicper, 



TO DELLIUS. 

Dellius ! since all are born to die, 
Remember, in adversity, 

To show thyself resigned ; 
Nor less when Fortune's favoring gale 
Impels thy bark with swelling sail, 

Maintain a placid mind. 

1 Cowper makes the following just and beautiful reflections on the above 
Ode:— 

And is tliis all? Can reason do no more 

Than bid me shun the deep and dread the shore ? 

Sweet moralist ! afloat on life's rough sea 

The Christian has an art unknown to thee ; 

He holds no parley with unmanly fears, 

Where duty bids he confidently steers; 

Faces a thousand dangers at her call, 

And, trusting in his God, surmounts them all. 



b. c. 65-8.] iiorace. 403 

Whether relentless Care hath cast 
Her gloomy shadows o'er the past, 

Or Indolence and Ease 
Have seen thee woo the vernal wind 
And quaff the purple grape, reclined 

Beneath the waving trees ; 

Where the tall pine and poplar white 
Their mingled foliage unite 

In hospitable shade ; 
And where the struggling rivulet 
In rocky channel seems to fret 

Its winding course delayed. 

Here bring the perfumes, bring the wine ! 
And round thy brow fresh roses twine 

Ere yet their bloom be fled ; 
Or ere the Fates, stern sisters three, 
Have past th' immutable decree 

To cut Life's slender thread. 

Then must thou leave thy lands and home, 
Thy noble villa's lofty dome, 

And Tiber murmuring nigh ; 
Resign thy groves and gardens fair, 
To gratify thy longing heir 

With riches heaped on high. 

What now are titles, wealth, or fame, 
The glories of ancestral name ? 

Alike the rich, and they 
That starve in wintry snows, or sweat 
Beneath the sultry Dog-star's heat, 

Relentless Fate obey. 

We all must pass that dreaded bourne 
From whence no travellers return ; 

And all alike explore 
Early or late those regions dark, 
Where Charon plies his fatal bark 

To th' undiscovered shore. 

Lord Ravensworth. 



TO HIS LYRE. 

We are ask'd for a song. Oh ! if ever with thee 
While idling, my lyre, 'neath the green shady tree, 
Any birth to a strain we have happen'd to give, 
Which perchance for this year and for many may live, 
With a sweet Latin ode, come assist me, my shell, 
First tun'd by the townsman of Lesbos so well, 



464 Horace. [b. c. 65-8. 

Wlio, fierce though in war, yet amid battle's roar, 

Or his toss'd bark made fast to the watery shore, 

Of Liber, the Muses, and Venus would sing, 

And the Boy to her side ever loving to cling ; 

Would sing too of Lycus, belov'd by the fair, 

For his dark piercing eyes, and his raven black hair. 

glory of Phoebus ! welcom'd above ! 
Dearest shell, at the feasts of omnipotent Jove ; 
Thou sweetest assuager of trouble, whene'er 

1 duly invoke thee, attend to my prayer ! 

Robinson. 



TO A MISER. 

Within my dwelling you behold 

Nor ivory, nor roof of gold ; 

There no Hymettian rafters weigh 

On columns from far Africa ; 

Nor Attalus' imperial chair 

Have I usurp'd, a spurious heir, 

Nor client dames of high degree 

Laconian purples spin for me ; 

But a true heart and genial vein 

Of wit are mine, and great men deign 

To court my company, though poor. 

For naught beyond do I implore 

The gods, nor crave my potent friend 

A larger bounty to extend, 

With what he gave completely blest, 

My happy little Sabine nest. 

Day treads down day, and sinks amain, 

And new moons only wax to wane, 

Yet you, upon death's very brink, 

Of piling marbles only think, 

That yet are in the quarry's womb, 

And all unmindful of the tomb, 

Rear gorgeous mansions everywhere ; 

Nay, as though earth too bounded were, 

With bulwarks huge thrust back the sea, 

That chafes and breaks on Bai'se. 

What though you move the ancient bound, 

That marks your humble neighbor's ground, 

And avariciously o'erleap 

The limits right should bid you keep ? 

Where lies your gain, that, driven from home, 

Both wife and husband forth must roam, 

Bearing their household gods close press'd 

With squalid babes upon their breast ? 

Still for the man of wealth, 'mid all 

His pomp and pride of place, the hall 



B. C. 65-8.] HORACE. 465 

Of sure devouring Orcus waits 
With its inevitable gates. 
Then why this ceaseless vain unrest ? 
Earth opens her impartial breast 
To prince and beggar both ; nor might 
Gold e'er tempt hell's grim satellite 
To waft astute Prometheus o'er 
From yonder ghastly Stygian shore. 
Proud Tantalus and all his race 
He curbs within that rueful place ; 
The toilworn wretch, who cries for ease, 
Invoked or not, he hears and frees. 

Martin. 



TO PHYLLIS. 

I have laid in a cask of Albanian wine, 

Which nine mellow summers have ripened and more ; 
In my garden, dear Phyllis, thy brows to entwine, 

Grows the brightest of parsley in plentiful store. 
There is ivy to gleam on thy dark glossy hair ; 

My plate, newly burnish'd, enlivens my rooms ; 
And the altar, athirst for its victim, is there, 

Enwreath'd with chaste vervain, and choicest of blooms. 

Every hand in the household is busily toiling, 

And hither and thither boys bustle and girls ; 
Whilst, up from the hearth-fires careering and coiling, 

The smoke round the rafter-beams languidly curls. 
Let the joys of the revel be parted between us ! 

'Tis the Ides of young April, the day which divides 
The month, dearest Phyllis, of ocean-sprung Venus, 

A day to me dearer than any besides. 

And well may I prize it, and hail its returning — 

My own natal day not more hallowed nor dear — 
For Maecenas, my friend, dates from this happy morning 

The life which has swelled to a lustrous career. 
You sigh for young Telephus : better forget him ! 

His rank is not yours, and the gaudier charms 
Of a girl that's both wealthy and wanton benet him, 

And hold him the fondest of slaves in her arms. 

Remember fond Phaethon's fiery sequel, 

And heavenward-aspiring Bellerophon's fate ; 
And pine not. for one who would ne'er be your equal, 

But level your hopes to a lowlier mate. 
So, come, my own Phyllis, my heart's latest treasure ; 

Ah, ne'er for another this bosom shall long — 
And I'll teach, while your loved voice re-echoes the measure, 

How to lighten fell care with the cadence of song. 

Martin. 



466 Horace. [b. c. 65-8. 



TO ARISTITJS FUSCUS. 

That happy man, whose virtuous heart . 

Is free from guilt and conscious fear, 
Needs not the poison'd Moorish dart, 

Nor how. nor sword, nor deadly spear. 

Whether on shores that Ganges laves, 

Or Syrtes' quivering sands among ; 
Or where Hydaspes' fabled waves 

In strange meanders wind along. 

When free from care I dared to rove, 

And Lalage inspired my lay ; 
A wolf within the Sabine grove 

Fled wild from his defenceless prey. 

Such prodigy the Daunian bands 

In their drear haunts shall never trace ; 

Nor barren Libya's arid sands, 
Rough parent of the lion race. 

place me where no verdure smiles, 

No vernal zephyrs fan the ground, 
No varied scene the eye beguiles, 

Nor murmuring rivulets glide around ! 

Place me on Thracia's frozen lands, 

Uncheer'd by genial light of day ! 
Place me on Afric's burning sands, 

Scorch'd by the sun's inclement ray! 

Love in my heart shall pain beguile, 

Sweet Lalage shall be my song ; 
The gentle beauties of her smile, 

The gentle music of her tongue. 

Hon. W. Herbert. 

TO VIRGIL. 

[exhorting him to beae with fortitude the death of QUIXTILIUS. ] 

Wherefore restrain the tender tear ? 
Why blush to weep for one so dear ? . 
Sweet Muse, of melting voice and lyre, 
Do thou the mournful song inspire. 
Quintilius — sunk to endless rest, 
With Death's eternal sleep oppress'd ! 
Oh ! when shall Faith, of soul sincere, 



B C. 65-8.] HORACE. 4G7 

Of Justice pure the sister fair, 
And Modesty, unspotted maid, 
And Truth in artless guise array'd, 
Among the race of humankind 
An equal to Quintilius find ? 

How did the good, the virtuous mourn, 
And pour their sorrows o'er his urn ? 
But, Virgil, thine the loudest strain ; 
Yet all thy pious grief is vain. 
In vain dost thou the gods implore 
Thy loved Quintilius to restore ; 
"Whom on far other terms they gave, 
By nature fated to the grave. 

What though thou canst the lyre command, 
And sweep its tones with softer hand 
Than Orpheus, whose harmonious song 
Once drew the listening trees along ? 
Yet ne'er returns the vital heat 
The shadowy form to animate ; 
For when the ghost-compelling god 
Forms his black troops with horrid rod, 
He will not, lenient to the breath 
Of prayer, unbar the gates of death. 
'Tis hard ; but patience must endure, 
And soothe the woes it cannot cure. 

Francis. 



CONSCIENCE. 

What's man's chief good ? From guilt a conscience free ;- 
Be this thy guard, be this thy strong defence : 
A virtuous heart, and unstained innocence : 
Mot to be conscious of a shameful sin, 
Nor e'er turn pale for scarlet crimes within. 



Creech . 



DETRACTION. 

The man who vilifies an absent friend, 
Or hears him scandaliz'd, and don't defend : 
Who, much desiring to be thought a wit, 
Will have his jest, regardless whom it hit : 
Who what he never saw proclaims for true, 
And vends for secrets what he never knew : 
Who blabs whate'er is whisper'd in his ear, 
And fond of talk, does all he knows declare 
That man's a wretch : — of him besure beware. 

Creech. 



..} 



468 Horace. [b. c. 65-8. 



ADVICE. 

Now to advise you, since you want advice : 

Take heed of whom you speak, and what it is 

Take heed to whom : avoid the busy man : 

Fly the inquisitive ; he'll talk again, 

And tell what you have said : the leaky ear 

Can never hold what it shall chance to hear, 

But out it runs : what words you once let fall, 

Forever gone, no mortal can recall. 

Praise none till well approv'd on sober thoughts, 

Lest afterwards you blush to find their faults : 

But if you have commended, thro' mistake, 

A worthless rascal, no excuses make 

On his behalf, but give him up to shame : 

Yet manfully defend another's fame, 

If long acquaintance has approv'd him true : 

For the same malice soon may slander you. 

When your next neighbor's house is all a flame, 

If you neglect it, yours will be the same. 

Creech. 



COUNTRY LIFE. 

I often wish'd I had a farm, 
A decent dwelling, snug and warm, 
A garden, and a spring as pure 
As crystal, running by my door ; 
Besides, a little ancient grove, 
Where at my leisure I might rove. 

The gracious gods, to crown my blis?, 
Have granted this, and more than tLis : 
I have enough in my possessing, 
'Tis well : I ask no other blessing, 
Oh Hermes ! than, remote from strife, 
To have and hold them for my life. 

If I was never known to raise 
My fortune by dishonest ways ; 
Nor, like the spendthrifts of the times, 
Shall ever sink it by my crimes : 
If thus I neither pray nor ponder — 
Oh ! might I have that angle yonder, 
Which disproportions now my field, 
What satisfaction it would yield ! 
Oh that some lucky chance but threw 
A pot of silver to my view, 
As lately to the man, who bought 
The very land on which he wrought ! 



B. C. 65-8.] HORACE. 469 

If I am pleased with my condition, 

Oh hear, and grant this last petition : 

Indulgent, let my cattle batten ; 

Let all things, but my fancy, fatten ; 

And thou continue still to guard, 

As thou art wont, thy suppliant bard ! 

Whilst losing, in Rome's busy maze, 

The calm and sunshine of my days, 

How oft, with fervor I repeat, 

" When shall I see my sweet retreat ? 

Oh, when with books of sages deep, 

Sequester'd ease and gentle sleep, 

In soft oblivion, blissful balm, 

The busy cares of life becalm ? 

Oh, when shall I enrich my veins, 

Spite of Pythagoras, with beans ? 

Or live luxurious in my cottage 

On bacon-ham and savory pottage ? 

joyous nights ! delicious feasts ! 

At which the gods might be my guests !" 

There every guest may drink and fill 

As much, or little, as he will, 

Exempted from the bedlam rules 

Of roaring prodigals and fools. 

Whether in merry mood or whim, 

He tills his bumper to the brim ; 

Or, better pleased to let it pass, 

Grows mellow with a moderate glass. 

Satire Sixt It . — Fra nc is . 



FREEDOM. 

//. Who then is free ? 

D. The wise, who well maintains 

An empire o'er himself: whom neither chains, 
Nor want, nor death, with slavish fear inspire ; 
Who boldly answers to his warm desire, 
Who can ambition's vainest gifts despise, 
Firm in himself, who on himself relies ; 
Polish'd and round, who runs his proper course, 
And breaks misfortune with superior force. 

Satire Seventh. — IN- 



DIRECTIONS FOR WRITING. 

Your style should an important difference make 
When heroes, gods, or awful sages speak ; 
When florid youth, whom gay desires inflame ; 
A busy servant, or a wealthy dame ; 
40 



470 Horace. [b. c. 65-8. 

A merchant, wandering with incessant toil, 
Or he, who cultivates the verdant soil ; 
But if in foreign realms you fix your scene, 
Their genius, customs, dialects maintain. 

Or follow fame, or in th' invented tale 
Let seeming, well-united truth prevail : 
If Homer's great Achilles tread the stage, 
Intrepid, fierce, of unforgiving rage, 
Like Homer's hero, let him spurn all laws, 
And by the sword alone assert his cause. 
With untamed fury let Medea glow, 
And Ino's tears in ceaseless anguish flow. 
From realm to realm her griefs let Io bear, 
And sad Orestes rave in deep despair. 
But if you venture on an untried theme, 
And form a person yet unknown to fame, 
From his first entrance to the closing scene, 
Let him one equal character maintain. 

'Tis hard a new-form 'd fable to express, 
And make it seem your own. With more success 
You may from Homer take the tale of Troy, 
Than on an untried plot your strength employ. 
Yet would you make a common theme your own, 
Dwell not on incidents already known ; 
Nor word for word translate with painful care, 
Nor be confined in such a narrow sphere, 
From whence (while you should only imitate) 
Shame and the rules forbid you to retreat. 

Begin your work with modest grace and plain, 
Nor like the bard of everlasting strain, 
"I sing the glorious war and Priam's fate" — 
How will the boaster hold this yawning rate ? 
The mountains labor'd with prodigious throes, 
And, lo ! a mouse ridiculous arose. 
Far better he, who ne'er attempts in vain, 
Opening his poem in this humble strain ; 
Muse, sing the man who, after Troy subdued, 
Manners and towns of various nations view'd ; 
He does not lavish at a blaze his fire, 
Sudden to glare, and in a smoke expire ; 
But rises from a cloud of smoke to light, 
And pours his specious miracles to sight ; 
Antiphates his hideous feast devours, 
Charybdis barks, and Polyphemus roars. 

He would not, like our modern poet, date 
His hero's wanderings from his uncle's fate ; 
Nor sing ill-fated Ilium's various woes, 
From Helen's birth, from whom the war arose ; 
But to the grand event he speeds his course, 
And bears his readers with resistless force 
Into the midst of things, while every line 
Opens, by just degrees, his whole design. 



B. C. 59-A. D. H.] mvy. 471 

Artful he knows eacli circumstance to leave 
Which will not grace and ornament receive : 
Then truth and fiction with such skill he blends, 
That equal he begins, proceeds, and ends. 

* y- -x- * * #• 

The poet, who with nice discernment knows 
What to his country and his friends he owes ; 
How various nature warms the human breast, 
To love the parent, brother, friend or guest ; 
What the great offices of judges are, 
Of senators, of generals sent to war ; 
He surely knows, with nice, well-judging art, 
The strokes peculiar to each different part. 

Keep Nature's great original in view, 
And thence the living images pursue ; 
For when the sentiments and diction please, 
And all the characters are wrought with ease, 
Your play, though void of beauty, force, and art, 
More strongly shall delight and warm the heart, 
Than where a lifeless pomp of verse appears, 
And with sonorous trifles charms our ears. 

* # * * # * 

'Tis long disputed, whether poets claim 
From art or nature their best right to fame ; 
But art, if not enrich 'd by nature's vein, 
And a rude genius, of uncultured strain, 
Are useless both ; but when in friendship join'd, 
A mutual succor in each other find. 

De Arte Poetica. — Francis. 



TITUS LIVIUS. 

B. C. 59— A. D. 17. 



Of Titus Livius (who has sometimes the cognomen of Patavinus, 
from the place of his birth) very little is positively known. He was 
born at Patavium or Padua B. C. 59, but spent the greater part of his 
life in the metropolis, where he enjoyed the protection and regard of 
Augustus, and returned to his native city a few years before his death, 
which took place in the fourth year of Tiberius, A. D. 17, when he 
was seventy-six years old. 

The great and only extant work of Livy, is his History of Rome 
(termed by himself Annates), extending from the foundation of the 
city to the death of Drusus, B. C. 9, comprised in one hundred and 
forty-two books : of these, thirty-five have descended to us ; but of the 



472 livy. [b. c. 59-a. d. 17. 

whole, with the exception of two, we possess summaries which were 
probably drawn up not long after the appearance of the volumes which 
they abridge. The whole work has been divided into decades, or 
groups of ten books each : the first decade (1 — 10) is entire, embracing 
the period from the foundation of the city to the subjugation of the 
Samnites, B. C. 294. The second decade (11 — 20) is altogether lost. 
It embraces the period from B. C. 294 to B. C. 219, comprising an 
account of the extension of the Roman dominion over Southern Italy 
and a part of Cisalpine Gaul ; of the invasion of Pyrrhus, the first 
Punic war, &c. The third decade (21 — 30) is entire, giving an account 
of the second Punic war, from B. C. 219, to the battle of Zama, B. C. 
201. The fourth decade (31—40), and one-half of the fifth (41 — 45), 
are entire, the whole fifteen embracing the period from B. C. 201 to 
B. C. 167, and recounting the progress of the Roman arms in Cisalpine 
Gaul, in Macedonia, Greece, and Asia, ending with the triumph of 
iEmilius Paulus, in which Perseus, King of Macedonia, and his three 
sons, were exhibited as captives. Of the remaining books nothing 
remains but a few inconsiderable fragments. 

Until within a century Livy held a very high rank as an historian, 1 
because history was regarded more as a literary composition, than the 
embodiments of facts. "It is time, however," says the late Dr. Thomas 
Arnold, "that this error should be dispelled, and that Livy should be 
tried in a more just balance, and estimated after a truer standard. 
So long as he shall be considered a good historian, it will be an 
ominous sign of the inattention of men in general to the nature of a 
historian's duties, and of the qualifications which he ought to possess ; 
it will forbid us to hope that history will be studied in a wiser spirit 
than heretofore, or that, being more judiciously cultivated, it will be 
made to yield a more beneficial return. But this is a hope that we 
are loth to relinquish ; and we would fain do all in our power to pro- 
mote its accomplishment. This is our apology for the length to which 
we have now carried our criticism of Livy ; we know that he is a bad 
historian, and we would fain effect the same conviction in the minds 
of others. For this end nothing is necessary but to compare his work 
in one or two careful perusals with that of Thucydides. There would 
be seen the contrast between what an excellent historian should be 
and what Livy is : the contrast of perfect knowledge and unwearied 
diligence, with ignorance and carelessness ; of a familiar and practical 
understanding of all points of war and policy, with an entire strange- 

1 <: The writings of Livy may be offered to the student of rhetoric, as con- 
taining models of almost every excellence within the compass of the art." — 
Edinburgh Review. 



B. C. 59-A. D. It.] LIVY. 473 

ness to them ; of a severe freedom from every prejudice and partiality, 
with a ready acquiescence in any tale that flatters national vanity and 
pride. Nor would the comparison of the speeches of the two histories 
be less pointed and instructive. In the one we should find the genuine 
and characteristic sentiments of the times, the countries, and the par- 
ties, to which they are ascribed. The principles of morality and policy 
which were avowed or acted upon, and the sort of arguments which 
might be successfully used, are given on an authority known to be 
deserving of the fullest belief. In the other there is nothing genuine, 
and therefore nothing valuable ; the sentiments and arguments are 
merely those of an unpractical man of a later age ; they convey no 
information ; they cannot be treated as developing the character of 
their pretended authors ; they may be 'inconceivably eloquent' in the 
eyes of a rhetorician, but to him who estimates history rightly, it was 
a waste of time to write them, and, except only so far as they are 
specimens of language, it is a waste of time to read them." 

But it is solely to the want of merit in Livy as a historian that 
the above quoted remarks of Dr. Arnold refer. As an exemplar 
of purity of diction ) as a consummate master of all the rhythmical 
cadences and harmonious combinations of language ; and as a painter 
of the beautiful forms which the richness of his own imagination 
called up, the same great Roman historian of modern times pronounces 
him to be unrivalled in the whole course of literature. Indeed, his 
style maybe pronounced almost faultless. "The narrative flows on 
in a calm but strong current, clear and sparkling, but deep and 
unbroken ; the diction displays richness without heaviness, and sim- 
plicity without tameness. Nor is his art as a painter less wonderful. 
There is a distinctness of outline, and a warmth of coloring in all his 
delineations, whether of living men in action or of things inanimate, 
which never fail to call up the whole scene before oar eyes.'" 



BATTLE BETWEEN THE HORATII AND THE CURIATII. 

It happened that there were in each of the two armies three 
brothers born at one birth, unequal neither in age nor strength. 

1 Professor Ramsay, of the University of Glasgow. The most complete 
and elaborate edition of Livy is that of Drakenborch, based on Gronovius' 
published at Leyden, in seven volumes 4to., 1738-46. It comprehends 
everything valuable contributed by previous scholars, and forms a most 
ample storehouse of learning. The commentary of Ruperti is also an 
admirable adjunct. Of the translations, Baker long held the chief place, 
poorly executed as it is ; but lately a much better one has been published in 
Bohn's series of translated classics, done by Cyrus Edmonds. 

40* 



474 livy. [b. c. 59-a. d. IT. 

That they were called Horatii and Curiatii is certain enough ; 
nor is there any circumstance of antiquity more celebrated ; 
yet in a matter so well ascertained, a doubt remains concerning 
their names, to which nation the Horatii and to which the 
Curiatii belonged. Authors claim them for both sides ; yet I 
find more who call the Horatii Romans. My inclination leads 
me to follow them. The kings confer with the three brothers, 
that they should fight with their swords each in defence of their 
respective country; assuring them that dominion would be 
on that side on which victory should be. 1S0 objection is 
made ; time and place are agreed on. Before they engaged, a 
compact is entered into between the Romans and Albans on 
these conditions, that the state whose champions should come 
off victorious in that combat, should rule the other state with- 
out further dispute. 

The treaty being concluded, the twin-brothers, as had been 
agreed, take arms. Whilst their respective friends exhortingly 
reminded each party that their country's gods, their country 
and parents, all their countrymen both at home and in the 
army, had their eyes then fixed on their arms, on their hands, 
naturally brave, and animated by the exhortations of their 
friends, they advance into the midst between the two lines. 
The two armies sat down before their respective camps, free 
rather from present danger than from anxiety; for the sove- 
reign power was at stake, depending on the valor and fortune 
of so few. Accordingly, therefore, eager and anxious, they 
have their attention intensely riveted on a spectacle far from 
pleasing. The signal is given : and the three youths on each 
side, as if in battle array, rush to the charge with determined 
fury, bearing in their breasts the spirits of mighty armies : nor 
do the one or the other regard their personal danger ; the 
public dominion or slavery is present to their mind, and the 
fortune of their country, which was ever after destined to be 
such as they should now establish it. As soon as their arms 
clashed on the first encounter, and their burnished swords glit- 
tered, great horror strikes the spectators ; and, hope inclining 
to neither side, their voice and breath were suspended. Then 
having engaged hand to hand, when not only the movements 
of their bodies, and the rapid brandishings of their arms and 
weapons, but wounds also and blood were seen, two of the 
Romans fell lifeless, one upon the other, the three Albans being 
wounded. And when the Alban army raised a shout of joy at 
their fall, hope entirely, anxiety, however, not yet, deserted the 
Roman legions, alarmed for the lot of the one, whom the three 



B. C. 59-A. D. 17.] LIVY. 475 

Curiatii surrounded. He happened to be unhurt, so that, 
though alone he was by no means a match for them all together, 
yet he was confident against each singly. In order therefore 
to separate their attack, he takes to flight, presuming that they 
would pursue him with such swiftness as the wounded state of 
his body would suifer each. He had now fled a considerable 
distance from the place where they had fought, when, looking 
behind, he perceives them pursuing him at great intervals from 
each other ; and that one of them was not far from him. On 
him he turned round with great fury. And whilst the Alban 
army shouts out to the Curiatii to succor their brother, Hora- 
tius, victorious in having slain his antagonist, was now pro- 
ceeding to a second attack. Then the Romans encourage their 
champion with a shout such as is usually given by persons 
cheering in consequence of unexpected success: he also hastens 
to put an end to the combat. Wherefore before the other, who 
was not far off, could come up, he despatches the second Curia- 
tius also. And now, the combat being brought to an equality 
of numbers, one on each side remained, but they were equal 
neither in hope nor in strength. The one, his body untouched 
by a weapon, and a double victory made courageous for a third 
contest: the other, dragging along his body exhausted from 
the wound, exhausted from running, and dispirited by the 
slaughter of his brethren before his eyes, presents himself to 
his victorious antagonist. Nor was that a fight. The Roman, 
exulting, says, "Two I have offered to the shades of my bro- 
thers: the third I will offer to the cause of this war, that the 
Roman may rule over the Alban." He thrusts his sword down 
into his throat, whilst faintly sustaining the weight of his 
armor: he strips him as he lies prostrate. The Romans re- 
ceive Horatius with triumph and congratulation; with so much 
the greater joy, as success had followed so close on fear. They 
then turn to the burial of their friends with dispositions by no 
means alike; for the one side was elated with the acquisition 
of empire, the other subjected to foreign jurisdiction ; their 
sepulchres are still extant in the place where each fell ; the 
two Roman ones in one place nearer to Alba, the three Alban 
ones towards Rome ; but distant in situation from each other, 
and just as they fought. 



476 ltvy. [b. c. 59-a. d. 17. 



CONSTERNATION IN ROME. 1 

At Rome the alarm and consternation were not less than 
they had been two years before, when the Carthaginian camp 
was pitched over against the Roman walls and gates ; nor 
could people make up their minds whether they should com- 
mend or censure, this so bold march of the consul. It was 
evident that the light in which it would be viewed would de- 
pend upon its success; than which nothing can be more unfair. 
They said, "that the camp was left near to the enemy, Han- 
nibal, without a general, and with an army from which all the 
flower and vigor had been withdrawn ; and that the consul had 
pretended an expedition into Lucania, when he was in reality 
going to Picenura and G-aul, leaving his camp secured only by 
the ignorance of the enemy, who were not aware that the 
general and part of his army were away. What would be the 
consequence if that should be discovered, and Hannibal should 
think proper either to pursue Nero with his whole army, who 
had gone off with only six thousand armed men, or to assault 
the camp, which was left as a prey for him, without strength, 
without command, without auspices?" The disasters already 
experienced in the war, the deaths of two consuls the preceding 
year, augmented their fears. Besides, all these events had 
occurred "when there was only one general and one army of 
the enemy in Italy; whereas now they had two Punic wars, 
two immense armies, and in a manner two Hannibals in Italy, 
inasmuch as Hasdrubal was descended from the same father, 
Hamilcar, was a general equally enterprising, having been 
trained in a Roman war during so many years in Spain, and 
rendered famous by a double victory, having annihilated two 
armies with two most renowned generals. For he could glory 
even more than Hannibal himself, on account of the celerity 

1 In the second Punic war, after Hannibal had gained his many signal 
victories in Italy, and was encamped in the southern part, and while the 
consul Caius Claudius Nero was near him with an army to keep him in check, 
Hasdrubal was marching down from Northern Italy to join his forces to those 
of his brother. When Nero heard this he determined to leave his present 
position with a part of his force, and march to meet Hasdrubal before the 
junction was effected. He did so, and defeated the Carthaginian. The 
slaughter was very great, and among the slain was Hasdrubal himself, whose 
head Nero carried back, and had it thrown before the tents of Hannibal. It 
was when the Romans heard of Nero's first movements that the alarm and 
terror as here depicted by Livy pervaded the city. 



B. C. 59-A. D. 11.] LIVY. 477 

with which he had effected his passage out of Spain, and his 
success in stirring up the Gallic nations to arms, inasmuch as 
he had collected an army in those very regions in which Han- 
nibal lost the major part of his soldiers by famine and cold, the 
most miserable modes of death." Under the dictation of fear, 
which always puts the worst construction upon things, they 
magnified all the advantages which the enemy possessed, and 
undervalued their own. * * * 

When Nero thought that his plan might be disclosed without 
danger, he briefly addressed his soldiers, observing, that "there 
never was a measure adopted by any general which was in 
appearance more daring than this, but in reality more safe. 
That he was leading them on to certain victory." And, by 
Hercules, they marched amid vows, prayers, and commenda- 
tions, all the roads being lined with ranks of men and women, 
who had flocked there from all parts of the country. They 
called them the safeguards of the state, the protectors of the 
city and empire of Home. They. said that the safety and liberty 
of themselves and their children were treasured up in their arms 
and right hands. They prayed to all the gods and goddesses 
to grant them a prosperous march, a successful battle, and a 
speedy victory over their enemies; and that they might be 
bound to pay the vows which they had undertaken in their 
behalf; so that as now they attended them off with anxiety, so 
after a few days' interval they might joyfully go out to meet 
them exulting in victory. Then they severally and earnestly 
invited them to accept, offered them, and wearied them with 
entreaties, to take from them in preference to another, what- 
ever might be requisite for themselves or their cattle. They 
generously gave them everything in abundance, while the sol- 
diers vied with each other in moderation, taking care not to 
accept anything beyond what was necessary for use. They did 
not make any delay nor quit their ranks when taking food ; 
they continued the march day and night, scarcely giving as 
much to rest as was necessary to the requirements of the body. 



JOY IN ROME CONSEQUENT UPON THE VICTORY OE CLAUDIUS NERO. 

After this, news came that the ambassadors themselves were 
on the point of arriving. 1 Then, indeed, people of all ages ran 
to meet them, each man being eager to be the first to receive 

1 Having dispatches announcing the victory. 



478 livy. [b. c. 59-a. d. 17. 

an assurance of such joyful tidings, by the evidence of his eyes 
and ears. One continued train extended as far as the Mulvian 
bridge. The ambassadors, Lucius Yeturius Philo, Publius 
Licinius Varus, and Quintus Cagcilius Metellus, made their 
way into the forum, surrounded by a crowd of persons of every 
description; when some asked the ambassadors themselves, 
others their attendants, what had been done ; and, as soon as 
each had heard that the army and general of the enemy had 
been cut off, that the Roman legions were safe, and the consuls 
unhurt, he immediately imparted the joyful intelligence to 
others, imparting to them the joy he felt himself. Having with 
difficulty made their way into the senate-house, and the crowd 
with still more difficulty being removed, that they might not 
mix with the fathers, the letter was read in the senate ; after 
which the ambassadors were brought into the general assembly. 
Lucius Yeturius Philo, after reading the letter himself, gave a 
more explicit account of all that had occurred, amidst great 
approbation, and at last of general shouting from the assembly, 
while their minds could scarcely contain their joy. They then 
ran off in various directions, some to the different temples of 
the gods, to return thanks, others to their homes, to impart the 
joyful intelligence to their wives and children. The senate 
decreed a supplication for three days, because Marcus Livius 
and Cains Claudius, the consuls, had cut off the general and 
legions of the enemy, their own army being safe. This sup- 
plication Caius Hostilius, the prtetor, proclaimed in the assem- 
bly, and was celebrated both by men and women. During the 
whole three days all the temples were uniformly crowded, whilst 
the matrons, dressed in their richest robes, and accompanied 
by their children, just as though the war had been brought to 
a conclusion, and free from every apprehension, offered thanks- 
givings to the immortal gods. This victory produced an alte- 
ration also in the condition of the state, so that immediately 
from this event, just as though it had been a time of peace, 
men were not afraid to do business with each other, buying, 
selling, lending, and paying borrowed money. Caius Claudius, 
the consul, on his return to his camp, ordered the head of 
Hasdrubal, which he had carefully kept and brought with him, 
to be thrown before the advanced guards of the enemy, and the 
African prisoners to be shown to them bound just as they were. 
Two of these also he unbound, and bid them go to Hannibal 
and tell him what had occurred. Hannibal, smitten by such 
severe distress, at once public and domestic, is said to have 
declared that he recognized the destiny of Carthage ; and de- 



B. C. 59-A. D. IT.] LIVY. 419 

camping thence with the intention of drawing together into 
Bruttium, the remotest corner of Italy, all his auxiliaries which 
he could not protect when widely scattered, removed into Brut- 
tium the whole state of the Metapontines, summoned away from 
their former habitations, and also such of the Lucanians as were 
under his authority. 



SPEECH OP PUBLIUS CORNELIUS SCIPIO IN FAVOR OP THE ROMANS 
INVADING AFRICA. 

Among the considerations advanced, conscript fathers, by 
Quintus Fabius Maximus against our carrying the war into 
Africa, he mentioned what a great degree of danger I should 
incur, should I cross over into Africa, so that he appeared 
solicitous on my account, and not only for the state and the 
army. But whence has this concern for me so suddenly sprung? 
When my father and uncle were slain ; when their two armies 
were cut up almost to a man ; when Spain was lost; when four 
armies of the Carthaginians and four generals kept possession 
of everything by terror and by arms; when a general was sought 
for to take the command of that war, and no one came forward 
besides myself, no one had the courage to declare himself a 
candidate ; when the Roman people had conferred the com- 
mand upon me, though only twenty-four years of age; why was 
it that no one at that time made any mention of my age, of the 
strength of the enemy, of the difficulty of the war, and of the 
recent destruction of my father and uncle ? Has some greater 
disaster been suffered in Africa now than had at that time be- 
fallen us in Spain? Are there now larger armies in Africa, 
more and better generals, than were then in Spain? Was my 
age then more mature for conducting a war than now? Can 
a war with a Carthaginian enemy be carried on with greater 
convenience in Spain than in Africa? After having routed 
and put to flight four Carthaginian armies; after having cap- 
tured by force, or reduced to submission by fear, so many cities; 
after having entirely subdued everything as far as the ocean, so 
many petty princes, so many savage nations; after having re- 
gained possession of the whole of Spain, so that no trace of 
war remains, it is an easy matter to make light of my services; 
just as easy as it would be, should I return victorious from 
Africa, to make light of those very circumstances which are 
now magnified in order that they may appear formidable, for 
the purpose of detaining me here. He says that there is no 



480 livy. [b. c. 59-a. d. 17. 

possibility of entering Africa ; that there are no ports open. 
He mentions that Marcus Atilius was taken prisoner in Africa, 
as if Marcus Atilius had miscarried on his first access to Africa. 
Xor does he recollect that the ports of Africa were open to 
that very commander, unfortunate as he was; that he performed 
some brilliant services during the first year, and continued un- 
defeated to the last, so far as related to the Carthaginian gene- 
rals. You will not, therefore, in the least deter me by that 
example of yours. If that disaster had been sustained in the 
present, and not in the former war; if lately, and not forty years 
ago, yet why would it be less advisable for me to cross over 
into Africa after Regulus had been made prisoner there, than 
into Spain after the Scipios had been slain there? 

It makes indeed a great difference, conscript fathers, whether 
you devastate the territories of another, or see your own de- 
stroyed by fire and sword. He who brings danger upon another 
has more spirit than he who repels it. Add to this, that the 
terror excited by unknown circumstances is increased on that 
account. When you have entered the territory of an enemy, 
you may have a near view of his advantages and disadvan- 
tages. Hannibal did not expect that it would come to pass 
that so many of the states in Italy would come over to him as 
did so after the defeat at Cannae. How much less would any 
firmness or constancy be experienced in Africa by the Cartha- 
ginians, who are themselves faithless allies, oppressive and 
haughty masters ! Besides, we, even when deserted by our 
allies, stood firm in our own strength, the Roman soldiery. 
The Carthaginians possess no native strength. The soldiers 
they have are obtained by hire ; — Africans and Xumidians — 
people remarkable above all others for the inconstancy of their 
attachments. Provided no impediment arises here, you will 
hear at once that I have landed, and that Africa is blazing with 
war; that Hannibal is preparing for his departure from this 
country, and that Carthage is besieged. Expect more frequent 
and more joyful despatches from Africa than you received from 
Spain. The considerations on which I ground my anticipa- 
tions are the good fortune of the Roman people, the gods, the 
witnesses of the treaty violated by the enemy, the kings 
Syphax and Masinissa; on whose fidelity I will rely in such a 
manner as that I may be secure from danger should they prove 
perfidious. Many things which are not now apparent, at this 
distance, the war will develop ; and it is the part of a man, 
and a general, not to be wanting when fortune presents itself, 
and to bend its events to his designs. 






B. C. 59-A. D. IT.] LIVY. 481 

But, by Hercules, even if the war would not be more speedily 
terminated by adopting the plan I propose, yet it were con- 
sistent with the dignity of the Roman people, and the high 
character they enjoy with foreign kings and nations, to appear 
to have had spirit not only to defend Italy, but also to carry 
hostilities into Africa; and that it should not be supposed and 
spread abroad that no Roman general dared what Hannibal 
had dared ; that in the former Punic war, when the contest was 
about Sicily, Africa should have been so often attacked by out- 
fleets and armies, and that now, when the contest is about Italy, 
Africa should be left undisturbed. Let Italy, then, which has 
so long been harassed, at length enjoy some repose; let 
Africa, in her turn, be fired and devastated. Let the Roman 
camp overhang the gates of Carthage rather than that we 
should again behold the rampart of the enemy from our walls. 
Let Africa be the seat of the remainder of the war. Let 
terror and flight, the devastation of lands, the defection of 
allies, and let all the other calamities of war which have fallen 
upon us, through a period of fourteen years, be turned upon 
her. 



SPEECH OF HANNIBAL TO SCIPIO BEFORE THE BATTLE OF ZAMA. 

Since fate hath so ordained it, that I, who was the first to 
wage war upon the Romans, and who have so often had victory 
almost within my reach, should voluntarily come to sue for 
peace, I rejoice that it is you, above all others, from whom it 
is my lot to solicit it. To you, also, amid the many distin- 
guished events of your life, it will not be esteemed one of the 
least glorious, that Hannibal, to whom the gods had so often 
granted victory over the Roman generals, should have yielded 
to you; and that you should have put an end to this war, which 
has been rendered remarkable by your calamities before it was 
by ours. In this also fortune would seem to have exhibited a 
disposition to sport with events, for it was when your father 
was consul that I first took up arms ; he was the first Roman 
general with whom I engaged in a pitched battle ; and it is to 
his son that I now come unarmed to solicit peace. It were 
indeed most to have been desired, that the gods should have 
put such dispositions into the minds of our fathers, that you 
should have been content with the empire of Italy, and we with 
that of Africa; nor, indeed, even to you, are Sicily and Sar- 
dinia of sufficient value to compensate you for the loss of so 
41 



482 livy. [b. c. 59-a. d. IT. 

many fleets, so many armies, so many and such distinguished 
generals. But what is past may be more easily censured than 
retrieved. In our attempts to acquire the possessions of others 
we have been compelled to fight for our own; and not only 
have you had a war in Italy, and we also in Africa, but you 
have beheld the standards and arms of your enemies almost in 
your gates and on your walls, and we now, from the walls of 
Carthage, distinctly hear the din of a Roman camp. "What, 
therefore, we should most earnestly deprecate, and you should 
most devoutly wish for, is now the case: peace is proposed at 
a time when yon have the advantage. We who negotiate it 
are the persons whom it most concerns to obtain it, and we are 
persons whose arrangements, be they what they will, our states 
will ratify. All we want is a disposition not averse from peace- 
ful counsels. As far as relates to myself, time (for I am re- 
turning to that country an old man which I left a boy), and 
prosperity, and adversity, have so schooled me, that I am more 
inclined to follow reason than fortune. But I fear your youth 
and uninterrupted good fortune, both of which are apt to in- 
spire a degree of confidence ill comporting with pacific coun- 
sels.* Rarely does that man consider the uncertainty of events 
whom fortune hath never deceived. What I was at Trasimenus, 
and at Cannae, that you are this day. Invested with command 
when you had scarcely yet attained the military age, though all 
your enterprises were of the boldest description, in no instance 
has fortune deserted you. Avenging the death of your father 
and uncle, you have derived from the calamity of your house 
the high honor of distinguished valor and filial duty. You 
have recovered Spain, which had been lost, after driving thence 
four Carthaginian armies. When elected consul, though all 
others wanted courage to defend Italy, you crossed over into 
Africa; where, having cut to pieces two armies, having at once 
captured and burnt two camps in the same hour; having made 
prisoner Syphax, a most powerful king, and seized so many 
towns of his dominions and so many of ours, you have dragged 
me from Italy, the possession of which I had firmly held for 
now sixteen years. Your mind, I say, may possibly be more 
disposed to conquest than peace. I know the spirits of your 
country aim rather at great than useful objects. On me, too, a 
similar fortune once shone. But if with prosperity the gods 
would also bestow upon us sound judgment, we should not only 
consider those things which have happened, but those also 
which may occur. Even if you should forget all others, I am 
myself a sufficient instance of every vicissitude of fortune. For 



B. C. 59-A. D. H.] LIVY. 483 

me, whom a little while ago you saw advancing my standards 
to the walls of Rome, after pitching my camp between the Anio 
and your city, you now behold here, bereft of my two brothers, 
men of consummate bravery, and most renowned generals, 
standing before the walls of my native city, which is all but 
besieged, and deprecating, in behalf of my own city, those 
severities with which I terrified yours. In all cases, the most 
prosperous fortune is least to be depended upon. While your 
affairs are in a favorable and ours in a dubious state, you w r ould 
derive honor and splendor from granting peace; while to us 
who solicit it, it would be considered as necessary rather than 
honorable. A certain peace is better and safer than a victory 
in prospect ; the former is at your own disposal, the latter de- 
pends upon the gods. Do not place at the hazard of a single 
hour the successes of so many years. When you consider your 
own strength, then also place before your view the power of 
fortune, and the fluctuating nature of war. On both sides there 
will be arms, on both sides human bodies. In nothing less 
than in war do events correspond with men's calculations. 
Should you be victorious in a battle, you will not add so much 
to that renown which you now have it in your power to acquire 
by granting peace, as you will detract from it should any ad- 
verse event befall you. The chance of a single hour may at 
once overturn the honors you have acquired and those you 
anticipate. Everything is at your own disposal in adjusting a 
peace; but, in the other case, you must be content with that 
fortune which the gods shall impose upon you. Formerly, in 
this same country, Marcus Atilius would have formed one 
among the few instances of good fortune and valor, if, when 
victorious, he had granted a peace to our fathers when they 
requested it; but by not setting any bounds to his success, and 
not checking good fortune, which was elating him, he fell with 
a degree of ignominy proportioned to his elevation. It is in- 
deed the right of him who grants, and not of him who solicits 
it, to dictate the terms of peace; but perhaps we may not be 
unworthy to impose upon ourselves the fine. We do not refuse 
that all those possessions on account of which the war was 
begun should be yours; Sicily, Sardinia, Spain, with all the 
islands lying in any part of the sea, between Africa and Italy; 
and let us Carthaginians, confined within the shores of Africa, 
behold you, since such is the pleasure of the gods, extending 
your empire over foreign nations, both by sea and land. 



484 ovid. [b. c. 43-a. d. 1! 



OVID. 

43 B. C.— A. D. 18. 

Publius Ovidius Naso was born at Sulino, now Sulmona, a town 
about ninety miles from Rome, B. C. 43. His father, though, in 
moderate circumstances, spared no expense in his education, and he 
accordingly had the advantage of the best teachers both at Rome and 
Athens. He was destined for the bar, and he seems, by the reputation 
which, after a short practice, he acquired, not to have been ill qualified 
for the profession : but his love for poetry.and polite literature finally 
prevailed, and he gave up the law for more congenial pursuits ; for 
the death of an elder brother, who left him an ample fortune, enabled 
him to live in easy independence. He was elected to two or three 
j udicial offices, and served in a campaign under Marcus Varro, in Asia. 
His life, however, presents but few prominent incidents. For a long 
series of years he appears to have enjoyed the friendship of a large 
circle of distinguished men, as well as the regard and favor of Augus- 
tus and the imperial family. But he was soon to experience, with 
Cardinal Wolsey, " how wretched is that poor man that hangs on 
princes' favors;" for, towards the close of A. D. 8, he was suddenly 
banished by an imperial edict to Tomi, a town on the Euxine, near the 
delta of the Danube. The ostensible reason for this was the licentious 
character of his poetry ; but for that unprincipled sensualist Augustus 
to condemn him for such a cause would be indeed something amusing. 
What, however, was the real reason has long exercised the ingenuity 
of scholars. The probability is, as inferred from some scattered hints 
in his poems, that he became unexpectedly acquainted with some of 
the wickedness of the emperor, or with some criminal intrigue of the 
imperial family, and therefore soon found that his presence was any- 
thing but desirable. He bore his banishment with an ill grace, and 
died at the place (Tomi) A. D. 18, in the ninth year of his exile, and 
the sixty-first of his age. 

Of the private character of Ovid little can be said in commendation. 
He was thrice married : his first two wives he divorced : he speaks 
tenderly and kindly, however, of his third, Perilla, who earnestly im- 
plored the emperor to accompany her husband into exile, but was 
refused. She remained true to him until his death. 

The chief works of Ovid are as follows : 1. Amoves, "Loves," three 
books of love elegies to various females. 2. Epistolse Heroidum, " He- 
roical Epistles," poetical letters supposed tohavebeen written by various 






b. c. 43-a. d. 18.] ovid. 485 

distinguished personages, such as Dido, Sappho, Penelope, &c. They 
show a deep knowledge of human nature, especially of woman ; while 
the turns of expression are everywhere at once natural and exact. 

3. Ars Amatoria, or "Art of Love :" at the time of Ovid's banishment 
this poem was ejected from the public libraries, by the command of 
Augustus, who in this act showed his consistent duplicity of character. 

4. Remedia A?noris, "Remedy of Love." 5. Nux, "The Nut," an ele- 
giac complaint of a nut-tree at the ill treatment it receives from way- 
farers. 6. Metamorphoseon Libri XV., "Fifteen Books of Metamor- 
phoses." This is Ovid's greatest work, and appears to have been- 
written between the ages of forty and fifty. It consists of such legends 
or fables of transformations as were said to have taken place in heathen 
mythology, beginning with the earliest times, and ending with Julius 
Caesar's being changed into a star. It is thus a sort of cyclic poem, 
made up of distinct episodes, and the subtle thread which connects the 
diverse materials in one harmonious and beautiful whole is not less 
admirable than the structure itself. 7. Fastorum Libri XII. , "Twelve 
Books of Fasti," or "Annuls," a sort of poetical Roman calendar, 
with its appropriate festivals and mythology. 8. Tristium Libri V., 
"Five Books of Mourning Elegies," written during the first four years 
of his banishment, chiefly made up of descriptions of his afflicted 
condition, and petitions for mercy. 

Of the character of Ovid as a poet there has been but one opinion : 
that he possessed great poetical genius is unquestionable, and this 
makes it the more lamentable that such genius should be so often 
debased by devotion to subjects so unworthy, by creations of fancy so 
sensual, and by the employment of language so exceptional. Neibuhr, 
in his " Lectures," calls him the most poetical among the Roman poets ; 
in allusion, perhaps, to the vigor of fancy and warmth of coloring dis- 
played in some parts of his works ; and in respect of his facility of 
composition ranks him among the greatest poets. But this very facility 
possessed more charms for him than the irksome but indispensable 
labor of correction and retrenchment. Hence he is often prolix and 
puerile. Nor is this his only fault: "he was the first to depart from 
that pure and correct taste which characterizes the Greek poets and 
their earlier Latin imitators; and his writings abound with false 
thoughts and frigid conceits." But his great fault is the want of that 
moral purity, without which no author has any right to expect lasting- 
fame. 1 



1 The best editions of Ovid are those of Burmann, Amsterdam, 1727, four 
volumes quarto; J. A. Amar, Paris, 1820, nine volumes 8vo. ; Boers' Meta- 
morphoses, Leipsic, 1843, 8vo. ; Merkil's Fasti, Berlin, 1841, 8vo. ; Jahn's 

41* 



486 ovid. [b. c. 43-a. d. 18. 



BEAUTY — THE FADING, THE ENDURING. 

Beauty, that fleeting good, grows yearly less, 
And time, alone, will spoil the finest face. 
Nor violet nor lily always blows, 
And prickles oft survive the faded rose. 
Gray hairs, my charmer, will disgrace thy head, 
And thy fair body wrinkles overspread : 
Then by thy virtues make thy glory sure ; 
The mind's perfections to the last endure. 

Tate. 



RUMOR EVER BUSY. 

Amidst the world, between earth, air, and sea, 
A place there is, the confine of all three : 
Hence things, howe'er remote, are view'd around ; 
Here ev'ry voice is heard, and ev'ry sound. 
Fame's palace on the summit stands on high, 
And ways thereto innumerable lie ; 
A thousand entrances on every side, 
All without gates, are ever open wide. 
Built all of brass, the ringing walls resound. 
And tales repeated echo all around. 
No rest within, no silence, yet the noise 
Not loud, but like the whispers of a voice : 
Such as from far by rolling billows sent, 
Or as Jove's fainting thunder almost spent. 
Hither in crowds the vulgar come and go, 
Millions of rumors here fly to and fro : 
Lies mixt with truth, reports that vary still, 
The itching ears of folks unguarded fill. 
They tell the tale, the tale in telling grow?, 
And each relater adds to what he knows. 
Hash error, light credulity are here, 
And causeless transport, and ill-grounded fear: 
New rais'd sedition, secret whispers blown 
By nameless authors, and of things unknown. 
Fame, all that's done in heav'n, earth, ocean, views, 
And o'er the world still hunts around for news. 

Theobald. 

Amatoria, Leipsic, 1828. The English metrical version? are numerous: those 
hy Dryden, Addison, Gay, Pope, and others, edited by Dr. Garth, which have 
passed through several editions, may be mentioned : also Howard's, in blank 
verse, London, 1807; the Elegies, in three books, hy 0. Marlowe; the He- 
roical Epistles, by Salstonstall, London, 1S2C>. 



b. c. 43-a. d. 18.] ovid. 48T 



A LETTER WRITTEN IN HIS EXILE. 

You bid me write to amuse the tedious hours, 

And save from withering my poetic powers ; 

Hard is the task, my friend, for verse should flow 

From the free mind, not fetter'd down by wo. 

Restless amidst unceasing tempests toss'd, 

Whoe'er has cause for sorrow, I have most. 

Would you bid Priam laugh, his sons all slain ; 

Or childless Niobe from tears refrain, 

Join the gay dance, and lead the festive train ? 

Does grief or study most befit the mind 

To this remote, this barbarous nook confined ? 

Could you impart to my unshaken breast 

The fortitude by Socrates possess'd, 

Soon would it sink beneath such woes as mine, 

For what is human strength to wrath divine ? 

Wise as he was, and Heaven pronounced him so, 

My sufferings would have laid that wisdom low. 

Could I forget my country, thee and all, 

And e'en the offence to which I owe my fall, 

Yet fear alone would freeze the poet's vein, 

While hostile troops swarm o'er the dreary plain. 

Add, that the fatal rust of long disuse 

Unfits me for the service of the Muse. 

Thistles and weeds are all we can expect 

From the best soil impoverish'd by neglect ; 

Unexercised, and to his stall confined, 

The fleetest racer would be left behind ; 

The best built bark that cleaves the watery way, 

Laid useless by, would moulder and decay — 

No hope remains that time shall me restore, 

Mean as I was, to what I was before. 

Think how a series of desponding cares 

Benumbs the genius and its force impairs. 

How oft, as now, on this devoted sheet, 

My verse constrain'd to move with measured feet, 

Reluctant and laborious limps along, 

And proves itself a wretched exile's song. 

What is it tunes the most melodious lays ? 

'Tis emulation and the thirst of praise, 

A noble thirst, and not unknown to me, 

While smoothly wafted on a calmer sea. 

But. can a wretch like Ovid pant for fame ? 

No, rather let the world forget my name. 

Is it because that world approved, my strain, 

You prompt me to the same pursuit again ? 

No, let the Nine the ungrateful truth exen.se, 

I charge my hopeless ruin on the Muse, 



488 ovid. [b. c. 43-a. d. 18. 

And, like Perillus, meet my just desert, 

The victim of my own pernicious art ; 

Fool that I was to be so warn'd in vain, 

And shipwreck'd once, to tempt the deep again ! 

Ill fares the bard in this unletter'd land, 

None to consult, and none to understand. 

The purest verse has no admirers here, 

Their own rude language only suits their ear. 

Rude as it is, at length familiar grown, 

I learn it, and almost unlearn my own ; — 

Yet to say truth, even here the Muse disdains 

Confinement, and attempts her former strains, 

But finds the strong desire is not the power, 

And what her taste condemns, the flames devour. 

A part, perhaps, like this, escapes the doom, 

And though unworthy, finds a friend at Rome ; 

But oh the cruel art, that could undo 

Its votary thus ! would that could perish too ! 

Cote per. 



LOVER'S LEAP. 

you that love in vain ! 
Fly hence : and seek the far Leucadian main : 
There stands a rock, from whose impending steep, 
Apollo's fane surveys the rolling deep : 
There injur'd lovers leaping from above, 
Their flames extinguish, and forget to love. 
Deucalion once with hopeless fury burn'd, 
In vain he lov'd, relentless Pyrrha scorn'd : 
But when from hence he plung'd into the main, 
Deucalion scorn'd, and Pyrrha lov'd in vain. 
Haste, thither haste : from high Leucadia throw 
Your wretched weight, nor dread the deeps belo\r. 

Pope. 



SEIZURE OF EUROPA BY JUPITER. 

When now the god his fury had allay'd, 
And taken vengeance of the stubborn maid, 
From where the bright Athenian turrets rise 
He mounts aloft, and reascends the skies. 
Jove saw him enter the sublime abodes, 
And, as he mix d among the crowd of Gods, 
Beckon'd him out, and drew him from the rest, 
And in soft whispers thus his will exprest : 

"M} r trusty Hermes, by whose ready aid 
Thy Sire's commands are through the world convoy VI, 
Resume thy wings, exert their utmost force, 
And to the walls of Sidon speed thy course ; 



b. c. 43-A. D.-18.] ovid. 489 

There find a herd of heifers wandering o'er 

The neighboring hill, and drive them to the shore." 

Thus spoke the God, concealing his intent. 
The trusty Hermes on his message went, 
• And found the herd of heifers wandering o'er 
A neighboring hill, and drove them to the shore ; 
Where the King's daughter, with a lovely train 
Of fellow-nymphs, was sporting on the plain. 

The dignity of empire Jaid aside 
(For love but ill agrees with kingly pride) ; 
The ruler of the skies, the thundering God, 
Who shakes the world's foundations with a nod, 
Among a herd of lowing heifers ran, 
Frisk'd in a bull, and bellow'd o'er the plain. 
Large rolls of fat about his shoulders clung, 
And from his neck the double dewlap hung. 
His skin was whiter than the snow that lies 
Unsullied by the breath of southern skies ; 
Small shining horns on his curl'd forehead stand, 
As turn'd and polish'd by the workman's hand; 
His eyeballs roll'd, not formidably bright, 
But gaz'd and languish'd with a gentle light. 
His every look was peaceful, and exprest 
The softness of the lover in the beast. 

Agenor's royal daughter, as she play'd 
Among Jhe fields, the milk-white bull survey'd, 
And view'd his spotless body with delight, 
And at a distance kept him in her sight. 
At length she pluck'd the rising flowers, and fed 
The gentle beast, and fondly strok'd his head. 
He stood well-pleas'd to touch the charming fair, 
But hardly could confine his pleasure there. 
And now he wantons o'er the neighboring strand, 
Now rolls his body on the yellow sand ; 
And now, perceiving all her fears decay'd, 
Comes tossing forward to the royal maid ; 
Gives her his breast to stroke, and downward turns 
His grisly brow, and gently stoops his horns. 
In flowery wreaths the royal virgin drest 
His bending horns, and kindly clapt his breast. 
Till now grown wanton, and devoid of fear, 
Not knowing that she prest the thunderer, 
She plac'd herself upon his back, and rode 
O'er fields and meadows, seated on the God. 

He gently march'd along, and by degrees 
Left the dry meadow, and approach'd the seas ; 
Where now he dips his hoofs, and wets his thighs, 
Now plunges in, and carries off the prize. 
The frighted nymph looks backward on the shore, 
And hears the tumbling billows round her roar ; 
But still she holds him fast : one hand is borne 
Upon his back ; the other grasps a horn : 



490 ovid. [b. c. 43-a. d. 18. 

Her train of ruffling garments flies behind, 
Swells in the air, and hovers in the wind. 

Through storms and tempests he the virgin bore, 
And lands her safe on the Dictsean shore ; 
Where now, in his divinest form array'd, 
In his true shape he captivates the maid : 
Who gazes on him, and with wondering eyes 
Beholds the new majestic figure rise, 
His glowing features, and celestial light, 
And all the God discover'd to her sis:ht. 



Addi 



son. 



POWER OF GOOD NATURE. 

First, learn good manners, fair ones ! I advise : 
'Tis that secures the conquest of your eyes. 
Age, beauty's foe, will, o'er your charming brow, 
Do all you can, injurious furrows plough : 
The time will come you'll hate the tell-tale glass, 
That shows the frightful ruins of your face : 
But, if good-nature to the last remain, 
Ev'n age will please, and love his pow'r retain. 

Dry den. 



THE CAVE OF SLEEP. 

Near the Cimmerians, in his dark abode, 
Deep in a cavern dwells the drowsy god, 
Whose gloomy mansion nor the rising sun, 
Nor setting, visits, nor the lightsome noon ; 
But lazy vapors round the region fly, 
Perpetual twilight, and a doubtful sky ; 
No crowing cock does there his wings display, 
Nor with his horny bill provoke the day, 
Nor watchful dogs, nor the more wakeful geese, 
Disturb with nightly noise the sacred peace, 
Nor beast of nature, nor the tame are nigh, 
Nor trees with tempests rock'd, nor human cry, 
But safe repose, without an air of breath, 
Dwells here, and a dumb quiet next to death. 

An arm of Lethe, with a gentle flow 
Arising upwards from the rock below, 
The palace moats, and o'er the pebbles creeps, 
And with soft murmurs calls the coming sleeps. 
Around its entry nodding poppies grow, 
And all cool simples that sweet rest bestow ; 
Night from the plants their sleepy virtue drains, 
And, passing, sheds it on the silent plains. 
No door there was, the unguarded house to keep, 
On creaking hinges turn'd, to break his sleep. 






B. C. 43-A. D. 18.] OVID. 491 

But in the gloomy court was raised a Led, 
Stuff'd with black plumes, and on an ebon-sted ; 
Black was the covering too, where lay the god, 
And slept supine, his limbs display'd abroad ; 
About his head fantastic visions fly, 
Which various images of things supply, 
And mock their forms, the leaves on trees not more, 
Nor bearded ears in fields, nor sands upon the shore. 

The virgin entering bright, indulged the day 
To the brown cave, and brush'd the dreams away ; 
The god, disturb'd with this new glare of light, 
Cast sudden on his face, unseal'd his sight, 
And raised his tardy head, which sunk again, 
And, sinking, on his bosom knock'd his chin ; 
At length shook off himself, and ask'd the dame 
(And asking yawn'd) for what intent she came. 

To whom the goddess thus : " sacred rest, 
Sweet pleasing Sleep, of all the powers the best ! 
peace of mind ! repairer of decay ! 1 

Whose balms renew the limbs to labors of the day, I 
Care shuns thy soft approach, and sullen flies away ! J 
Adorn a dream, expressing human form, 
The shape of him who suffer'd in the storm, 
And send it flitting to the Trachin court, 
The wreck of wretched Ceyx to report ; l 
Before his queen bid the pale spectre stand, 
Who begs a vain relief at Juno's hand." 
She said, and scarce awake her eyes could keep, 
Unable to support the fumes of sleep, 
But fled, returning by the way she went, 
And swerved along her bow with swift ascent. 

The god, uneasy till he slept again, 
Resolved at once to rid himself of pain ; 
And, though against his custom, call'd aloud, 
Exciting Morpheus from the sleepy crowd ; 
Morpheus, of all his numerous train, express'd 
The shape of man, and imitated best ; 
The walk, the words, the gesture, could supply, 
The habit mimic, and the mien bely ; 
Plays well, but all his action is confined, 
Extending not beyond our human kind. 
Another, birds, and beasts, and dragons apes, 
And dreadful images, and monster shapes ; 
This demon, Icelos, in heaven's high hall, 
The gods have named, but men Phobetor call. 
A third is Phantasus, whose actions roll 
On meaner thoughts, and things devoid of soul ; 
Earth, fruits, and flowers, he represents in dreams, 
And solid rocks unmoved, and running streams. 

1 That is, send it to Trachis, late abode of King Ceyx, to tell his widowed 
wife Halcyone that her husband had perished by shipwreck. Read a full 
account of the story in Bulfinch's " Age of Fable," page 100. 



492 ovid. [b. c. 43-a. d. 18. 

These three to kings and chiefs their scenes display, 
The rest before the ignoble commons play. 
Of these the chosen Morpheus is despatch'd, 
Which done, the lazy monarch, overwatch'd, 
Down from his propping elbow drops his head, 
Dissolved in sleep, and shrinks within his bed. 

Dry den. 



THE GOLDEN AGE. 

The golden age was first ; when man, yet new, 
No rule but uncorrupted reason knew ; 
And, with a native bent, did good pursue. 
Unforc'd by punishment, unaw'd by fear, 
His words were simple, and his soul sincere : 
Needless was written law, where none opprest ; 
The law of man was written in his breast : 
No suppliant crowds before the judge appear'd ; 
No court erected yet, nor cause was heard ; 
But all was safe, for conscience was their guard. 
The mountain-trees in distant prospect please, 
Ere yet the pine descended to the seas : 
Ere sails were spread, new oceans to explore ; 
And happy mortals, unconcern'd for more, 
Confin'd their wishes to their native shore. 
No walls were yet, nor fence, nor moat, nor mound ; 
Nor drum was heard, nor trumpet's angry sound : 
Nor swords were forg'd ; but, void of care and crime, 
The soft creation slept away their time. 
The teeming earth, yet guiltless of the plough, 
And unprovok'd, did fruitful stores allow : 
Content with food, which nature freely bred, 
On wildings and on strawberries they fed ; 
Cornels and bramble-berries gave the rest, 
And falling acorns furnish'd out a feast. 
The flowers unsown in fields and meadows reign'd : 
And western winds immortal Spring maintain'd. 
In following years the bearded corn ensu'd 
From earth unask'd, nor was that earth renew'd. 
From veins of valleys milk and nectar broke ; 
And honey sweating through the pores of oak. 



Dryden. 



THE SILVER AGE. 

But when good Saturn, banish'd from above, 
Was driven to hell, the world was under Jove. 
Succeeding times a silver age behold, 
Excelling brass, but more excell'd by gold. 
Then Summer, Autumn, Winter, did appear ; 
And Spring was but a season of the year. 



b. c. 43-A. D. 18.] ovid. 493 

The sun his annual course obliquely made, 
Good days contracted, and enlarg'd the had. 
Then air with sultry heats began to glow, 
The wings of winds were clogg'd with ice and snow ; 
And shivering mortals, into houses driven, 
Sought shelter from th' inclemency of heaven. 
Those houses, then, were caves, or homely sheds, 
With twining oziers fenc'd, and moss their beds. 
Then ploughs, for seed, the fruitful furrows broke, 
And oxen labor'd first beneath the yoke. 



Drydt 



THE BRAZEN AGE. 

To this next came in course the brazen age, 
A warlike offspring, prompt to bloody rage, 
Not impious yet 



THE IRON AGE. 



-Hard steel succeeded then : 



And stubborn as the metal were the men. 
Truth, Modesty, and Shame, the world forsook : 
Fraud, Avarice, and Force, their places took. 
Then sails were spread to every wind that blew ; 
Raw were the sailors, and the depths were new : 
Trees rudely hollow'd, did the waves sustain : 
Ere ships in triumph plough'd the watery plain. 

Then landmarks limited to each his right : 
For all before was common as the light. 
Nor was the ground alone requir'd to bear 
Her annual income to the crooked share ; 
But greedy mortals, rummaging her store, 
Digg'd from her entrails first the precious ore ; 
Which next to hell the prudent Gods had laid ; 
And that alluring ill to sight display'd ; 
Thus cursed steel, and more accursed gold, 
Gave mischief birth, and made that mischief bold : 
And double death did wretched man invade, 
By steel assaulted, and by gold betray'd. 
Now (brandish'd weapons glittering in their hands) 
Mankind is broken loose from moral bands ; 
No rights of hospitality remain : 
The guest, by him who harbor'd him, is slain : 
The son-in-law pursues the father's life : 
The wife her husband murders, he the wife. 
The step-dame poison for the son prepares, 
The son inquires into his father's years. 
Faith flies, and Piety in exile mourns ; 
And Justice, here opprest, to heaven returns. 

Drydt 
42 



494 ovid. [b. c. 43-a. d. 18. 



BAUCIS AND PHILEMON. 

In ancient times, as story tells, 
The saints would often leave their cells, 
And stroll about, but hide their quality, 
To try good people's hospitality. 

It happen'd on a winter night, 
As authors of the legend write, 
Two brother-hermits, saints by trade, 
Taking their tour in masquerade, 
Disguised in tatter'd habits, went 
To a small village down in Kent ; 
Where, in the strollers' canting strain, 
They begg'd from door to door in vain ; 
Tried every tone might pity win, 
But not a soul would let them in. 

Our wandering saints, in woful state, 
Treated at this ungodly rate, 
Having through all the village pass'd, 
To a small cottage came at last ! 
Where dwelt a good old honest ye'man, 
Call'd in the neighborhood Philemon ; 
Who kindly did these saints invite 
In his poor hut to pass the night ; 
And then the hospitable sire 
Bid goody Baucis mend the fire ; 
While he from out the chimney took 
A flitch of bacon off the hook, 
And freely from the fattest side 
Cut out large slices to be fried ; 
Then stepp'd aside to fetch them drink, 
Fill'd a large jug up to the brink, 
And saw it fairly twice go round ; 
Yet (what is wonderful) they found 
'Twas still replenished to the top, 
As if they ne'er had touch'd a drop. 
The good old couple were amazed, 
And often on each other gazed ; 
For both were frighten'd to the heart, 
And just began to cry — What art ! 
Then softly turn'd aside to view 
Whether the lights were burning blue. 
The gentle pilgrims, soon aware on't, 
Told them their calling and their errand : 
"Good folks, you need not be afraid, 
We are but saints," the hermits said ; 
" No hurt shall come to you or yours : 
But for that pack of churlish boors, 
Not fit to live on Christian ground, 
They and their houses shall be drown'd ; 



b. c. 43-A. D. 18.] ovid. 495 

Whilst you shall see your cottage rise, 
And grow a church before your eyes." 

They scarce had spoke, when fair and soft 
The roof began to mount aloft ; 
Aloft rose every beam and rafter ; 
The heavy wall climb'd slowly after. 

The chimney widen'd, and grew higher ; 
Became a steeple with a spire. 

The kettle to the top was hoist, 
And there stood fastened to a joist. 
But with the upside down, to show 
Its inclination for below : 
In vain ; for a superior force, 
Applied at bottom, stops its course : 
Doom'd ever in suspense to dwell, 
'Tis now no kettle, but a bell. 

A wooden Jack, which had almost 
Lost by disuse the art to roast, 
A sudden alteration feels, 
Increased by new intestine wheels ; 
And, what exalts the wonder more, 
The number made the motion slower : 
The flier, though 't had leaden feet, 
Turn'd round so quick, you scarce could see 't ; 
But, slacken'd by some secret power, 
Now hardly moves an inch an hour. 
The jack and chimney, near allied, 
Had never left each other's side : 
The chimney to a steeple grown, 
The jack would not be left alone ; 
But, up against the steeple rear'd, 
Became a clock, and still adhered ; 
And still its love to household cares, 
By a shrill voice at noon, declares ; 
Warning the cook-maid not to burn 
That roast-meat which it cannot turn. 

The groaning-chair began to crawl, 
Like a huge snail, along the wall ; 
There stuck aloft in public view, 
And, with small change, a pulpit grew. 

The porringers, that in a row 
Hung high, and made a glittering show, 
To a less noble substance changed, 
Were now but leathern buckets ranged. 

The ballads, pasted on the wall, 
Of Joan of France, and English Moll, 
Fair Rosamond, and Robin Hood, 
The little Children in the Wood, 
Now seem'd to look abundance better, 
Improved in picture, size, and letter ; 
And, high in order placed, describe 
The heraldry of every tribe. 



496 ovid. [b. c. 43-a. d. 18. 

A bedstead of the antique mode, 
Compact of timber many a load, 
Such as our ancestors did use, 
Was metamorphosed into pews ; 
"Which still their ancient nature keep, 
By lodging folks disposed to sleep. 

The cottage by such feats as these 
Grown to a church by just degrees, 
The hermits then desired their host 
To ask for what he fancied most. 
Philemon, having paused a while, 
Return'd theni thanks in homely style : 
Then said, My house is grown so fine, 
Methinks I still would call it mine ; 
I'm old, and fain would live at ease ; 
Make me the parson, if you please. 

He spoke, and presently he feels 
His grazier's coat fall down his heels ; 
He sees, yet hardly can believe, 
About each arm a pudding-sleeve ; 
His waistcoat to a cassock grew, 
And both assumed a sable hue ; 
But, being old, continued just 
As thread-bare, and as full of dust. 
His talk was now of tithes and dues : 
He smoked his pipe, and read the news ; 
Knew how to preach old sermons next, 
Vamp'd in the preface and the text ; 
At christenings well could act his part, 
And had the service all by heart ; 
Against dissenters would repine, 
And stood up firm for right divine; 
Found his head fill'd with many a system : 
But classic authors — he ne'er miss'd 'em. 

Thus having furbish'd up a parson, 
Dame Baucis next they play'd their farce on. 
Instead of home-spun coifs, were seen 
Good pinners edged with colberteen ; 
Her petticoat, transform'd apace, 
Became black satin flounced with lace. 
Plain Goody would no longer down : 
'Twas Madam, in her grogram gown. 
Philemon was in great surprise, 
And hardly could believe his eyes, 
Amazed to see her look so prim ; 
And she admired as much at him. 

Thus happy in their change of life 
Were several years this man and wife ; 
When on a day, which proved their last, 
Discoursing o'er old stories past, 
They went by chance, amidst their talk, 
To the churchyard, to take a walk ; 






b. c. 43-a. d. 18.] ovid. 497 

When Baucis hastily cried out, 

My dear, I see your forehead sprout ! 

Sprout ! quoth the man ; what's this you tell us ? 

I hope you don't believe me jealous ! 

But yet, methinks, I feel it true ; 

And really yours is budding too — 

Nay — now I cannot stir my foot ; 

It feels as if 'twere taking root. 

Description would but tire my muse ; 
In short, they both were turn'd to yews. 

Old Goodman Dobson of the green 
Remembers he the trees has seen ; 
He'll talk of them from noon till night, 
And goes with folks to show the sight : 
On Sundays, after evening-prayer, 
He gathers all the parish there ; 
Points out the place of either yew, 
Here Baucis, there Philemon, grew ; 
Till once a parson of our town, 
To mend his barn, cut Baucis down ; 
At which 'tis hard to be believed 
How much the other tree was grieved, 
Grew scrubbed, died a-top, was stunted ; 
So the next parson stubb'd. and burnt it. 

Imitated from the Eighth Book, by Dean Swift. 



PREDICTION OF HIS OWN FAME. 
[from the closing lines of the metamorphoses.] 

And now I close my work, which not the ire 

Of Jove, nor tooth of time, nor sword, nor fire 

Shall bring to naught. Come when it will that day 

Which o'er the body, not the mind, has sway, 

And snatch the remnant of my life away, 

My better part above the stars shall soar, 

And my renown endure forevermore. 

Where'er the Roman arms and arts shall spread, 

There by the people shall my book be read ; 

And, if aught true in poet's visions be, 

My name and fame have immortality. 



42* 



498 VALLEIUS PATERCULUS. [b. C. 19-A. D. 81. 



VELLEIUS PATERCULUS. 
19 b. c— a. d. 31. 

Caius Velleius Paterculus, a Roman historian contemporary with 
Augustus and Tiberius, was descended from a highly respectable family, 
and served in the army, under Augustus, as a prsefect of horse, and 
was prsetor under Tiberius. He was the author of a Summary of Gene- 
ral History, in two books, the object of which work is to give a brief 
view of universal history, but more especially of the events connected 
with Rome. In the execution of this work he has shown great skill 
and judgment, not attempting to give a consecutive account of all the 
events of history, but only a few of the most prominent occurrences, 
which he describes with much power. His reflections are striking 
and apposite, and his style, which is a close imitation of Sallust's, is 
characterized by clearness, conciseness, and energy. With the excep- 
tion of his eulogistic remarks upon Augustus, Tiberius, and Sejanus, 
he shows great impartiality and love of truth. 1 



CHARACTER OF POMPEY. 

Not long before Lucius Sylla's arrival in Italy, Cnasus Pom- 
pey, son of that Cnreus Pompey whose great exploits in his 
consulship, during the Marsian war, we have previously men- 
tioned, being then twenty-three years of age, a hundred and 
thirteen years ago, began to form great projects, depending 
as well on his own private resources as on his own judgment, 
and boldly to put them in execution ; and in order to support 
or restore the dignity of his country, assembled a strong army 
from the Picenian territory, which was wholly filled with his 
father's clients. To do justice to this man's greatness would 
require many volumes; but the limits of my work require that 
he should be characterized in a few words. His mother's name 
was Lucilia, of a senatorial family; he was remarkable for 
beauty, not such as adorns the bloom of life, but of such dignity 
and serenity as was well adapted to his rank and station, and 
which accompanied him to the last day of his life. He was 

1 Best editions: D. Ruhnken, Leyden. 1789, two volumes 8vo., C. H. 
Frotscher, Leipsic, 1830. Leniaire's, Paris, 1822. English translations : 
Newton, London, 1721 ; Patterson, Edinburgh, 1722; J. S. Watson, in Bohn's 
Library, London, 1852. 



B C. 19-A. D. 31.] VALLEIUS PATERCULUS. 499 

distinguished for temperance, was eminent for integrity, and 
had a moderate share of eloquence. He was excessively covet- 
ous of power, when conferred on him from regard to his merit, 
but had no desire to acquire it by irregular means. In war, 
he was the most skilful of generals ; in peace, the most modest 
of citizens, except when he was jealous of having an equal. 
He was constant in his friendships, placable when offended, 
most cordial in reconciliation, most ready to receive an apology. 
He never, or very rarely, stretched his power to excess, and 
was almost exempt from vice, unless it be counted among the 
greatest vices, that, in a free state, the mistress of the world, 
though, in right, he saw every citizen his equal, he could not 
endure to behold any one on a level with him in dignity. From 
the time of his assuming the manly gown, he was trained to 
war in the camp of his father, a general of consummate judg- 
ment; and he improved a genius naturally good, and capable 
of attaining all useful knowledge, with eminent singular skill 
in military affairs. 



DEATH OF POMPEY. 

Pompey, having fled with the two Lentuli, who had been 
consuls, his son Sextus, and Favonius, formerly a praetor, all 
of whom chance had assembled in his company, determined at 
last to repair to Egypt; a course to which he was prompted 
by his recollection of the services which he had rendered to the 
father of Ptolemy, who, rather a boy than a man, was now 
seated on the throne of Alexandria. But who, when his bene- 
factor is in adversity, remembers his benefits ? Who thinks that 
any gratitude is due to the unfortunate? Or when does a 
change of fortune not produce a change in attachments? Men 
were despatched by the king, at the instigation of Theodotus 
and Achillas, to meet Pompey on his arrival (who was now 
accompanied in his flight by his wife Cornelia, having taken 
her on board at Mitylene), and to desire him to remove from 
the transport-ship into a vessel which was come to receive him. 
No sooner had he done so, than he, the chief of all that bore 
the name of Roman, was murdered by the order and direction 
of an Egyptian slave; an event which took place in the consul- 
ship of Caius Csesar and Publius Servilius. Such was the end 
of a most upright and excellent man, in the fifty-eighth year 
of his age, and on the day before his birthday, after three con- 
sulships and as many triumphs, after subduing the whole world, 



500 VALLEIUS PATERCULUS. [B. C. 19-A. D. 31. 

and after reaching a degree of exaltation beyond which it is 
impossible to ascend; fortune having made such a revolution 
in his condition, that he who lately wanted earth to conquer, 
could now scarcely find sufficient for a grave. 



CHARACTER OF CICERO. 

Nothing reflects more disgrace on that period, than that 
either Caesar 1 should have been forced to proscribe any person, 
or that Cicero should have been proscribed by him, and that 
the advocate of the public should have been cut off by the 
villany of Antony, no one defending him, who for so many 
years had defended as well the cause of the public as the causes 
of individuals. But you have gained nothing, Mark Antony 
(for the indignation bursting from my mind and heart, compels 
me to say what is at variance with the character of this work), 
you have gained nothing, I say, by paying the hire for closing 
those divine lips, and cutting off that noble head, and by pro- 
curing, for a fatal reward, the death of a man, once so great 
as a consul, and the preserver of the communwealth. You 
deprived Marcus Cicero of a life full of trouble, and of a feeble 
old age; an existence more unhappy under your ascendency, 
than death under your triumvirate; but of the fame and glory 
of his actions and writings you have been so far from despoiling 
him that you have even increased it. He lives, and will live 
in the memory of all succeeding ages. And as long as this 
body of the universe, whether framed by chance, or by wisdom, 
or by whatever means, which he, almost alone of the Romans, 
penetrated with his genius, comprehended in his imagination, 
and illustrated by his eloquence, shall continue to exist, it will 
carry the praise of Cicero as its companion in duration. All 
posterity will admire his writings against you, and execrate 
your conduct towards him; and sooner shall the race of man 
fail in the world, than his name decay. 



BATTLE OF ACTIUM — AUGUSTUS CiESAR. 

What blessings that day procured to the world, what an 
improvement it produced in the state of the public welfare, 

1 He means Octavianus Caesar, afterwards Augustus, who basely gave up 
Cicero to the vindictive rage of Antony. 



B. C. 19-A. D. 31.] VALLEIUS PATERCULUS. 501 

who would attempt to recount in such a hasty narrative as this 
abridgment ? The victory was attended with the greatest cle- 
mency; only a few were put to death; and these were such as 
would not deign to sue for mercy. From this lenity of the 
leader, a judgment may be formed of the limits which he would 
have prescribed to himself in success, had he been allowed, 
both at the beginning of his triumvirate and in the plains of 
Philippi. In the next year, Caesar, pursuing the queen and 
Antony to Alexandria, brought the civil wars to a conclusion. 
Antony killed himself courageously enough, so as to compen- 
sate by his death for many faults of effeminacy. Cleopatra, 
eluding the vigilance of her guards, and causing an asp to be 
brought in to her, put an end to her life by its bite, showing no 
signs of womanish fear. It reflected honor on Ceesar's success, 
and his merciful disposition, that not one of those who had 
borne arms against him was put to death by him. The cruelty 
of Antony took off Decimus Brutus ; and the same Antony 
deprived Sextus Pompey of life, though, on conquering him, 
he had pledged his honor to secure to him even his rank. 
Brutus and Cassius died voluntary deaths, without waiting to 
make trial of the disposition of the conquerors. 

How great the concourse was, and how ardent the welcome 
from men of all ages and ranks, with which Caesar was met on 
his return to Italy and Borne; how magnificent, too, were his 
triumphs and donations, cannot be fully related even in the 
compass of a regular history, much less in so brief a work as 
this. There is no good which men can desire of the gods, none 
that the gods can bestow on men, none that can be conceived 
in wishes, none that can be comprised in perfect good fortune, 
which Augustus on his return did not realize to the state, to 
the Roman people, and to the world. The civil wars, which 
had lasted twenty years, were ended, foreign wars were sup- 
pressed, peace was recalled, the fury of arms everywhere laid 
asleep, energy was restored to the laws, authority to the courts 
of justice, and majesty to the senate; the power of the magis- 
trates was confined within its ancient limits, only two praetors 
being appointed in addition to the former eight; the old and 
original form of the commonwealth was re-established ; the 
culture of the lands was revived; reverence was restored to 
religion, security to men's persons, and to every man safe en- 
joyment of his property ; the old laws received useful emenda- 
tions, and others of a salutary nature were introduced; and 
the senate was chosen without severity, though not without 
strictness. The principal men, who had enjoyed triumphs and 



502 persius. [a. d. 34-62. 

the highest honors, were induced by the encouragement of the 
prince to add to the decorations of the city. He himself could 
only be persuaded to accept of the consulship, which he was 
prevailed upon to hold, though he made many endeavors to 
prevent it, for eleven years; the dictatorship, which the people 
resolutely pressed upon him, he as resolutely refused. A re- 
cital of the wars waged under his command, of his victories 
that gave peace to the world, and of his numerous works both 
in Italy and abroad, would give full employment to a writer, 
who should dedicate the whole of his life merely to those sub- 
jects. 



PERSIUS. 
A . D . 34—62. 



Aulus Persius Flaccus, the satiric poet, was a member of an ancient 
and equestrian family, and was born at Volaterrse, now Yolterra, in 
Etruria, A. D. 34. He received his elementary education in his native 
place, but at twelve years of age he was brought to Rome, and went 
through the usual course of grammar and rhetoric, under Remmius 
Palsenion and Virginius Flaccus. At the age of sixteen he attached 
himself to the stoic philosopher, Ann?eus Cornutus, by whom he was 
imbued with the stern philosophical principles which occupy so pro- 
minent a place in his satires. The young poet Lucan was one of his 
intimate associates, whose philosophical and poetical tastes were 
similar to his own, and who had a profound admiration of his writings. 
He was remarkable for the beauty of his person, the purity of his 
morals, and his most exemplary deportment in all the relations of life. 
He died at the early age of twenty-eight, and left his library, together 
with an ample legacy, to his teacher in philosophy, Cornutus ; who, 
with a disinterestedness somewhat remarkable, retained only the 
books, and distributed the money among the relatives of the de- 
ceased. 

Persius wrote seldom and slowly, and his only works extant are six 
short satires, extending in all to six hundred and fifty hexameter lines, 
and these were left in an unfinished state ; but they were slightly 
corrected after his death by Cornutus. Persius may be considered as 
the founder of a new school in satire ; and to him we are indebted for 
Juvenal. His style has been censured for obscurity — a censure always 
levelled at that closeness of expression, in which it is natural for a 



a. d. 34-62.] persius. 503 

strong mind to condense its thoughts. In ardor of imagination and 
sublimity of thought Juvenal has gone beyond his master : he also 
exceeds him in vehemence of invective, and has more frequently 
deviated into grossness of ideas and language. But Persius has also 
the mind of a poet ; and while he has given sufficient proofs of a rich 
and lively fancy, he will not easily be shown to have been surpassed 
in a knowledge of the weakness and treachery of the human heart, 
and in weight, dignity, and moral usefulness of an ethical satirist. ' 



REPREHENSION OF SLOTHFUL HABITS. 

" What ? is it ever thus ? Noon's entering ray 

Broadens the shutters' chinks with glare of day ; 

Yet still you snoring lie ; a spell of rest, 

That might the surfeit-fumes of wine digest. 

The shadow'd dial points eleven ; arise ! 

The dog-star heat is raging in the skies ; 

The sun already burns the parching wheat, 

And the faint flocks to spreading elms retreat." 

Thus to his hopeful charge some tutor cries : 

"Indeed ? and, is it so ?" the youth replies : 

"Come, quick, my slave !" — Is none at hand? how green 

His color instant changes with the spleen ! 

He splits his throat with rage : a man would say, 

He heard a hundred asses deafening bray. 

At length he's drest: his book he handles then, 

Fumbles his papers o'er, and dips his pen. 

But now the ink in globules clots the quill ; 

Now, too diluted, pale weak drops distil 

From the pen's point, and blot the paper o'er : — 

Oh wretched wight ! and wretched more and more, 

As every day grows old ! And is it come 

To this at last ? are these the youth of Rome ? 

But why not rather then be cocker 'd up 

At home, and pap and tender spoon-meat sup, 

Like royal infants, or pet doves ; and cry, 

In peevish passion, at the lullaby ? 

"How can I write with such a wretched pen ?" 

Are these excuses for the ears of men ? 

Forever whining in this shuffling tone? 

Yours is the loss and ridicule alone. 

1 Editions : Passow, Leipsic, 8vo., 1809, accompanied by a translation ; 
Plum, 8vo., Havn., 1827, with a voluminous commentary; Jahn, Leipsic, 
8vo., 1843, with elaborate prolegomena and judicious notes; Heinrich, 8vo., 
Leipsic, 1844, with excellent notes. The translations into English are nume- 
rous — the best are those of G-ifford, which is the most accurate, and affords 
the best representation of the manner of the original ; and of Dryden, which 
is the more spirited and poetical, though often too diffuse and incorrect. 



504 persius. [a. d. 34-62. 

Your life, poor silly one ! is flowing by ; 
Contempt, be sure, will glance from every eye. 
The jar ill-baked, wben rung, will shrill betray, 
With its crack'd sound, the raw unharden'd clay. 
You now are moist and ductile loam : begin, 
Let the lathe turn, the wheel swift-circling spin, 
And fashion you to shape. " But, I've enough 
Of victuals, and bright plate, and household stuff, 
And platters, safely stored, of ample size, 
To feed the fire with bits of sacrifice ; 
Then what have I to fear ?" And is this all ? 
And do you puff and swell, if you can call 
Some kinsman Censor, wear a robe of state, 
Or trace your pedigree to ancient date, 
The thousandth from a Tuscan sire ? — away ! 
Dazzle the crowd with trappings, as you may : 
My glance can pierce thee deeper than thy skin, 
Can look thee through, and know thee from within. 
Dost thou not blush with Natta's self to vie 
In loose and thriftless prodigality ? 
But vice has stupefied his mental part, 
Dull grossness cloaks the fibres of his heart ; 
No fault is his, thus senseless to his cost, 
Who, losing virtue, recks not what he lost : 
Plunged in the stagnant pool, of vice the sop, 
He sinks, nor ever bubbles to the top. 
Great father of the Gods ! in this alone 
To savage tyrants may thy wrath be shown ! 
Oh ! when the lust of crime, with venom'd stain, 
Infects their thoughts, and burns upon their brain, 
Let them that virtue, which they left, discern, 
And pine their loss, though never to return ! 



FROM THE FOURTH SATIRE. 1 

What ! you, my Alcibiades, aspire 

To sway the state ! — (Suppose that bearded sire 

1 This satire is founded on the first Alcibiades of Plato, and many of the 
expressions are closely copied from that celebrated dialogue. It naturally 
arranges itself under three heads : the first of which treats of the preposterous 
ambition of those who aspired to take the lead in state affairs, before they 
had learned the first principles of civil government. The second division 
turns on the general neglect of self-examination, enforcing, at the same time, 
the necessity of moral purity, from the impossibility of escaping detection ; 
and of restraining all wanton propensity to exaggerate the foibles of others, 
from its tendency to provoke severe recrimination on our own vices. The 
conclusion, or third part, reverts to the subject with which the satire opens, 
and arraigns, in terms of indignant severity, the profligacy of the young 
nobility, and their sottish vanity in resting their claims to approbation on 
the judgment of a worthless rabble. 






A. d. 34-62.] persius. 505 

Whom hemlock from a thankless world remov'd, 
Thus to address the stripling that he loved.) — 
On what apt talents for a charge so high, 
Ward of great Pericles, do you rely ? 
Forecast on others by gray hairs conferr'd, 
Haply, with you, anticipates the heard, 
And prompts you, prescient of the public weal, 
Now to disclose your thoughts, and now conceal ! 
Hence, when the rabble form some daring plan, 
And factious murmurs spread from man to man, 
Mute and attentive you can bid them stand, 
By the majestic wafture of your hand ! 

Rash youth ! relying on a specious skin, 
While all is dark deformity within, 
Check the fond thought ; nor, like the peacock, proud, 
Spread your gay plumage to the applauding crowd 
Before your hour arrive : — ah, rather drain 
Whole isles of hellebore, to cool your brain ! 
* * •* * * * * 

How few, alas ! their proper faults explore ! 
While, on his loaded back, who walks before, 
Each eye is fix'd : — you touch a stranger's arm, 
And ask him, if he knows Vectidus' farm ? 
" Whose ?" he replies. That rich old chuff's, whose ground 
Would tire a hawk to wheel it fairly round. 

"0, ho ! that wretch, on whose devoted head, 
111 stars and angry gods their rage have shed ! 
Who, on high festivals, when all is glee, 
And the loose yoke hangs idly on the tree, 
As, from the jar, he scrapes the incrusted clay, 
Groans o'er the revels of so dear a day ; 
Champs on a coated onion dipt in brine ; 
And, while his hungry hinds exulting dine 
On barley-broth, sucks up, with thrifty care, 
The mothery dregs of his pall'd vinegar!" 

But, if " you bask you in the sunny ray, 
And doze the careless hours of youth away, 
There are, who at such gross delights will spurn, 
And spit their venom on your life, in turn ; 
Expose, with eager hate, your low desires, 
Your secret passions, and unhallow'd fires. — 
Why, while the beard is nurs'd with every art, 
Those anxious pains to bear the shameful part? 
In vain : should five athletic knaves essay, 
To pluck, with ceaseless care, the weeds away, 
Still the rank fern, congenial to the soil, 
Would spread luxuriant, and defeat their toil!" 

Misled by rage, our bodies we expose, 
And while we give, forget to ward, the blows ; 
This, this is life ! and thus our faults are shown, 
By mutual spleen : we know — and we are known. 
43 



506 SENECA. [B. 0. 7-A. D. 65. 

But your defects elude inquiring eyes ! — 
Beneath, the groin the ulcerous evil lies, 
Impervious to the view ; and o'er the wound, 
The broad effulgence of the zone is bound ! 
But can you, thus, the inward pang restrain, 
Thus, cheat the sense of languor and of pain ? 

"But if the people call me wise and just, 
Sure, I may take the general voice on trust !" — 

No : — If you tremble at the sight of gold ; 
Indulge lust's wildest sallies uncontroll'd ; 
Or, bent on outrage, at the midnight hour, 
Girt with a ruffian band, the forum scour ; 
Then, wretch ! in vain the voice of praise you hear, 
And drink the vulgar shout with greedy ear. 

Hence, with your spurious claims ! rejudge your cause, 
And fling the rabble back their vile applause : 
To your own breast, in quest of worth, repair, 
And blush to find — how poor a stock is there ! 



SENECA. 
B. c. 7. A. D. 65. 



Lucius Ann^us Seneca, the philosopher and tragic poet, was born at 
Cordova, in Spain, B. C. 7, and brought to Rome by his parents when 
he was a child. From his youth he was a diligent student, and devoted 
himself with great ardor to rhetoric and philosophy. In the first year 
of the reign of Claudius, A. D. 41, he was banished to Corsica, on some 
accusation of the notorious Messalina, the third wife of the emperor. 
But his accuser being such an infamous woman, no reliance is to be 
placed on her evidence, as proving guilt on the part of Seneca. After 
an exile of eight years, during which he wrote some of his works on 
stoical philosophy, he was recalled by the influence of Agrippina, the 
rival in wickedness of Messalina, and the niece and fourth wife of 
Claudius, whom five years afterward she poisoned, that she might 
govern the empire through her ascendency over Nero, her son by a 
former husband. From this time the life of Seneca is closely con- 
nected with that of Nero, and Tacitus is the chief authority for the 
facts we possess in relation to both. Agrippina relied much on the 
influence and advice of the philosopher as the means of securing the 
succession to her son, whose education she intrusted to him. 

Never could teacher have a worse pupil. He probably did his best 
to correct the vicious propensities of the youth, and to instil into his 
mind precepts of wisdom and virtue ; yet, as has been well remarked, 



B. C. 1-A. D. 65.] SENECA. 507 

"he who consents to be tutor to a vicious youth of high station whom 
he cannot control, must be content to take the advantages of his post, 
with the risk of being blamed for his pupil's vices." 

Claudius was poisoned by his niece and wife Agrippina A. D. 54, 
and Nero succeeded to the imperial power. Seneca attempted to check 
the vicious propensities of the young emperor, who in the first year 
of his reign affected mildness and clemency, and such were the tones 
of his orations to the senate, which were doubtless the words of 
Seneca uttered by the mouth of Nero. But all Seneca's efforts to keep 
Nero within the limits of decency and humanity failed. The murder 
of Britannicus, A. D. 55, was followed by large gifts from the emperor 
to his friends, and, in the words of Tacitus, "there were not want- 
ing persons to affirm, that men who claimed a character for sober 
seriousness, divided among themselves, at that time, houses and 
villas, as if they were so much booty." This is thought to allude to 
Seneca, who grew immensely rich without any ostensible means of 
acquiring wealth, which made him justly an object of more than sus- 
picion. He was charged with the grossest immoral conduct by Sui- 
lius ; who also asked, " by what wisdom, by what precepts of philo- 
sophy, he had, during a four years' intimacy with an emperor, amassed 
a fortune of three hundred million sestestii : at Rome he was a hunter 
after testamentary gifts, an ensnarer of those who were childless." 
Perhaps these charges were very much exaggerated ; but Seneca's 
enormous wealth gave a color of truth to anything that was said 
against him. 

The struggle for dominion between Nero and his mother ended 
(horrible to relate) in the death of the latter by assassins hired by 
her own son ! The imperial murderer fled to Naples, whence he wrote 
to the Senate, charging his mother with a conspiracy against himself, 
on the failure of which he averred that she had committed suicide. 
The author of this letter, sad to say, was Seneca ; and it is his great 
condemnation. But the consent he gave to Agrippina's assassi- 
nation did not help him, for his own end was drawing near. His 
enormous wealth, his gardens and villas, more magnificent than those 
of the emperor, were coveted by the minions of Nero, and even by 
Nero himself; and when returning from a visit to Campania with his 
wife, and while resting at a villa about four miles from the city, the 
emperor sent a band of soldiers, to order him to choose the manner of 
his Own death. Without showing any signs of alarm, he cheered his 
weeping friends by the lessons of philosophy, remarking that he who 
had murdered a brother and a mother could not be expected to spare 
his teacher. He prayed his wife Paullina to moderate her grief, and 



508 SENECA. [b. c. 1-a. d. 65. 

to console herself for the loss of her husband by the reflection that he 
had Jived an honorable life. But as she protested that she would die 
with him, Seneca consented, and in the same moment the veins in 
the arms of both were opened, and they expired together. 

Thus died Seneca, A. D. 65, in the seventy-second year of his age. 
His great misfortune was to have known Nero. His fame rests on his 
numerous writings, which, with all their faults, have great merits. 
His principal works, which are of a philosophical character, are essays 
" On Anger," " On Consolation," " On Providence," " On Tranquillity 
of Mind," " On the Firmness of the Wise Man," "On Clemency," " On 
the Brevity of Human Life," "On a Happy Life," &c, together with 
"Epistles to Lucilius," one hundred and twenty-four in number. Be- 
sides these, there are extant ten tragedies attributed to him, entitled, 
Hercules Furens, Thyestes, Thebais or Phcenissse, Hippolytus or Phsedra, 
(Edipus, Troades or Hecuba, Medea, Agamemnon, Hercules (Etxus, and 
Octavia. These were never intended for the stage, but were designed 
for reading or recitation, after the Roman fashion. They contain many 
striking passages, and have some merits as poems. 1 



TRUE HAPPINESS FOUNDED ON WISDOM. 

Taking it for granted that human happiness is founded upon 
wisdom and virtue, we shall treat of these two points in order 
as they lie: and^rs^ of wisdom; not in the latitude of its vari- 
ous operations, but only as it has a regard to good life, and 
the happiness of mankind. 

Wisdom is a right understanding; a faculty of discerning 
good from evil; what is to be chosen, and what rejected; a 
judgment grounded upon the value of things, and not the com- 
mon opinion of them ; an equality of force, and a strength of 
resolution. It sets a watch over our words and deeds, it takes 
us up with the contemplation of the works of nature; and 
makes us invincible by either good or evil fortune. It is large 
and spacious, and requires a great deal of room to work in; it 
ransacks heaven and earth ; it has for its object things past and 
to come, transitory and eternal. It examines all the circum- 

1 Editions : Ruhkoff, Leipsic, 1797-1811, five vols. 8vo. ; Bipont edition, 
Strasburg, 1809, five vols. 8vo. A good edition of his tragedies is by F. H. 
Bothe, Leipsic, 1819, two vols. 8vo. An excellent English translation of his 
Epistles, "with large annotations, wherein particularly the tenets of the 
ancient philosophers are contrasted with the divine precepts of the Gospel, 
with regard to the moral duties of mankind," has been made bv Thomas 
Morell, D.D., 2 vols. 4to., London, 1786. 



B. C. 7-A. D. 65.] SENECA. 509 

stances of time; "what it is, when it began, and how long it 
will continue;" and so for the mind; "whence it came; what 
it is; when it begins; how long it lasts; whether or no it 
passes from one form to another, or serves only one, and wan- 
ders when it leaves us; where it abides in the state of separa- 
tion, and what the action of it ; what use it makes of its liberty ; 
whether or no it retains the memory of things past, and comes 
to the knowledge of itself." It is the habit of a perfect mind, 
and the perfection of humanity, raised as high as nature can 
carry it. It differs from philosophy, as avarice and money; 
the one desires, and the other is desired ; the one is the effect 
and the reward of the other. To be wise is the use of wisdom, 
as seeing is the use of eyes, and well-speaking the use of elo- 
quence. He that is perfectly wise is perfectly happy ; nay, the 
very beginning of wisdom makes life easy to us. Neither is it 
enough to know this, unless we print it in our minds by daily 
meditation, and so bring a good-will to a good habit. And we 
must practise what we preach; for philosophy is not a subject 
for popular ostentation ; nor does it rest in words, but in things. 
It is not an entertainment taken up for delight, or to give a 
taste to our leisure ; but it fashions the mind, governs our ac- 
tions, tells us what we are to do, and what not. It sits at the 
helm, and guides us through all hazards: nay, we cannot be 
safe without it, for every hour gives us occasion to make use of 
it. It informs us in all the duties of life, piety to our parents, 
faith to our friends, charity to the miserable, judgment in coun- 
sel ; it gives us peace, by fearing nothing, and riches, by covet- 
ing nothing. 

There is no condition of life that excludes a wise man from 
discharging his duty. If his fortune be good, he tempers it; 
if bad, he masters it ; if he has an estate, he will exercise his 
virtue in plenty, if none, in poverty; if he cannot do it in his 
country, he will do it in banishment; if he has no command, 
he will do the office of a common soldier. Some people have 
the skill of reclaiming the fiercest of beasts: they will make a 
lion embrace his keeper, a tiger kiss him, and an elephant kneel 
to him. This is the case of a wise man in the extremest diffi- 
culties; let them be never so terrible in themselves, when they 
come to him once, they are perfectly tame. They that ascribe 
the invention of tillage, architecture, navigation, &c, to wise 
men, may perchance be in the right, that they were invented 
by wise men ; but they were not invented by wise men, as wise 
men; for wisdom does not teach our fingers, but our minds: 
fiddling and dancing, arms and fortifications, were the works 

43* 



510 SENECA. [b. c. 7-a. d. 65. 

of luxury and discord; but wisdom instructs us in the way of 
nature, and in the arts of unity and concord; not in the instru- 
ments, but in the government of life; nor to make us live only, 
but to live happily. She teaches us what things are good, 
what evil, and what only appear so ; and to distinguish betwixt 
true greatness and tumor. She clears our minds of dross and 
vanity; she raises up our thoughts to heaven, and carries them 
down to hell : she discourses on the nature of the soul, the 
powers and faculties of it; the first principles of things; the 
order of providence : she exalts us from things corporeal to 
things incorporeal; and retrieves the truth of all: she searches 
nature, gives laws to life; and tells us, " that it is not enough 
to know God, unless we obey him." She looks upon all acci- 
dents as acts of providence; sets a true value upon things; 
delivers us from false opinions, and condemns all pleasures 
that are attended with repentance. She allows nothing to be 
good that will not be so forever ; no man to be happy but he 
that needs no other happiness than what he has within him- 
self ; no man to be great or powerful, that is not master of 
himself; — and this is the felicity of human life ; a felicity that 
can neither be corrupted nor extinguished. 



AGAINST RASH JUDGMENT. 

It is good for every man to fortify himself on his weak side ; 
and if he loves his peace, he must not be inquisitive, and 
hearken to tale-bearers ; for the man that is over-curious to 
hear and see everything, multiplies troubles to himself ; for a 
man does not feel what he does not know. He that is listening 
after private discourse, and what people say of him, shall never 
be at peace. How many things that are innocent in them- 
selves, are made injurious yet by misconstruction ? Wherefore 
some things we are to pause upon, others to laugh at, and 
others again to pardon. Or if we cannot avoid the sense of 
indignities, let us however shun the open profession of it; 
which may be easily done, as appears by many examples of 
those that have suppressed their anger, under the awe of a 
greater fear. It is a good caution not to believe anything 
until we are very certain of it ; for many probable things prove 
false, and a short time will make evidence of the undoubted 
truth. We are prone to believe many things which we are 
unwilling to hear, and so we conclude, and take up a prejudice 
before we can judge. Xever condemn a friend unheard ; or 






B. 0. 7 -A. D. 65.] SENECA. 511 

without letting him know his accuser, or his crime. It is a 
common thing to say, "Do not tell that you had it from me ; 
for if you do, I will deny it, and never tell you anything again." 
By which means friends are set together by the ears, and the 
informer slips his neck out of the collar. Admit no stories 
upon these terms ; for it is an unjust thing to believe in private, 
and to be angry openly. He that delivers himself up to guess 
and conjecture, runs a great hazard ; for there can be no sus- 
picion without some probable grounds ; so that without much 
candor and simplicity, and making the best of everything, there 
is no living in society with mankind. Some things that offend 
us we have by report ; others we see or hear. In the first 
case, let us not be too credulous ; some people frame stories 
that they may deceive us ; others only tell what they hear, and 
are deceived themselves ; some make it their sport to do ill 
offices ; others do them only to receive thanks ; there are some 
that would part the dearest friends in the world ; others love 
to do mischief, and stand off aloof to see what comes of it. If 
it be a small matter, I would have witnesses ; but if it be a 
greater; I would have it upon oath, and allow time to the 
accused, and counsel too, and hear it over and over again. 



THE EQUALITY OF MAN — VIRTUE THE ONLY NOBILITY. 

It is not well done to be still murmuring against nature and 
fortune ; as if it were their unkindness that makes you incon- 
siderable, when it is only by your own weakness that you make 
yourself so ; for it is virtue, not pedigree, that renders a man 
either valuable or happy. Philosophy does not either reject 
or choose any man for his quality. Socrates was no patrician, 
Cleanthes but an under- g ardener ; neither did Plato dignify 
philosophy by his birth, but by his goodness. All these worthy 
men are our progenitors, if we will but do ourselves the honor 
to become their disciples. The original of all mankind was the 
same ; and it is only a clear conscience that makes any man 
noble ; for that derives even from heaven itself. It is the say- 
ing of a great man, that if we could trace our descents, we 
should find all slaves to come from princes, and all princes 
from slaves. But fortune has turned all things topsy-turvy, in 
a long story of revolutions. It is most certain that our be- 
ginning had nothing before it; and our ancestors were some 
of them splendid, others sordid, as it happened. We have lost 
the memorials of our extraction ; and, in truth, it matters not 



512 SENECA. [b. c. T-a. d. 65. 

whence we came, but whither we go. £s"or is it any more to 
our honor the glory of our predecessors, than it is to their shame 
the wickedness of their posterity. We are all of us composed 
of the same elements ; why should we then value ourselves upon 
our nobility of blood, as if we were not all of us equal, if we 
could but recover our evidence ? But when we can carry it no 
farther, the herald provides us some hero to supply the place 
of an illustrious original ; and there is the rise of arms and 
families. For a man to spend his life in pursuit of a title, that 
serves only when he dies, to furnish out an epitaph, is below a 
wise man's business. 



ALL THINGS ORDERED BY GOD. 

Every man knows without telling, that this wonderful fabric 
of the universe is not without a Governor ; and that a constant 
order cannot be the work of chance ; for the parts would then 
fall foul one upon another. The motions of the stars, and their 
influences, are acted by the command of an eternal decree. It 
is by the dictate of an Almighty Power, that the heavy body 
of the earth hangs in balance. Whence come the revolutions 
of the seasons, and the flux of the rivers ? the wonderful virtue 
of the smallest seeds ? as an oak to arise from an acorn. To 
say nothing of those things that seem to be most irregular and 
uncertain ; as clouds, rain, thunder, the eruptions of fire out of 
mountains, earthquakes, and those tumultuary motions in the 
lower region of the air, which have their ordinate causes ; and 
so have those things, too, which appear to us more admirable 
because less frequent; as scalding fountains, and new islands 
started out of the sea ; or what shall we say of the ebbing and 
flowing of the ocean, the constant times and measures of the 
tides, according to the changes of the moon that influences 
most bodies ; but this needs not : for it is not that we doubt 
of providence, but complain of it. And it were a good office 
to .reconcile mankind to the gods, who are undoubtedly best to 
the best. It is against nature that good should hurt good. A 
good man is not only the friend of God, but the very image, 
the disciple, and the imitator of him, and a true child of his 
heavenly Father. He is true to himself; and acts with con- 
stancy and resolution. 



B. C. 7-A. D. 65.] SENECA. 513 



ON STUDY ; AND TRUE RICHES. 

[epistle second.] 

I am happy, Lucilius, in conceiving great hopes of you, both 
from what you write, and from what I hear of you : it seems, 
you are no wanderer, nor apt to disquiet yourself in vain with 
change of place ; a restlessness which generally springs from 
some malady in the mind. The chief testimony, I apprehend, 
of a mind truly calm and composed, is, that it is consistent 
with, and can enjoy itself. 

Be pleased likewise to consider that the reading many au- 
thors, and books of all sorts, betrays a vague and unsteady 
disposition. You must attach yourself to some in particular, 
and thoroughly digest what you read, if you would intrust the 
faithful memory with anything of use. He that is everywhere, 
is nowhere. They who spend their time in travelling, meet 
indeed with many an host, but few friends. This is necessarily 
the case of those, who apply not familiarly to any one study, 
but run over everything cursorily and in haste. The food 
profits not, nor gives due nourishment to the body, that abides 
not some time therein. Nothing so much prevents the recovery 
of health, as a frequent change of supposed remedies. A 
wound is not soon healed, when different salves are tried by 
way of experiment. A plant thrives not, nor can well take 
root, that is moved from place to place. What profits only 
accidentally, in passing, is of little use. Yariety of books dis- 
tracts the mind ; when you cannot read, therefore, all that you 
have, it is enough to have only what you can read. But you 
will say, you have a mind sometimes to amuse yourself, with 
one book and sometimes with another : it is a sign, my friend, 
of a nice and squeamish stomach, to be tasting many viands, 
which, as they are various and of different qualities, rather 
corrupt than nourish. Read therefore always the most ap- 
proved authors, and if you are pleased at any time to taste 
others, by way of amusement, still return to those as your 
principal study. Be continually treasuring up something to 
arm you against poverty, something against the fear of death 
and other the like evils, incident to man. And when you have 
read sufficiently, make a reserve of some particular sentiment 
for that day's meditation. 

Such is my own practice : of the many things I read, I 
generally select one for observation : for instance, to-day I 



514 SENECA. [b. c. T-a. d. 65. 

have been reading Epicurus 1 (for you must know I sometimes 
make an excursion into the enemy's camp, not by way of de- 
serter, but as a spy) : cheerful poverty, says he, is an excellent 
thing. Now I cannot conceive, how that state can be called 
poor, which is cheerful. The man whose poverty sits easy 
upon him, is rich. Not he that hath little, but he that de- 
sireth more, is the poor man. For what avails it how much a 
man hath in his chest, or in his barns ; what stock he has in 
the field, or what money at interest, if he is still hankering 
after another's wealth ; if he is ever counting, not what he has 
got already, but what he may get ? Do you ask me, what I 
take to be the proper mean of wealth ? I will tell you : first, 
a supply of necessaries ; secondly, an easy competency. 



CHANGE OF PLACE CHANGES NOT THE MIND. 

You think it strange, Lucilius, and as happening to yourself 
alone, that after so long a journey, and the visiting so many 
different places, you could not throw off your chagrin and mel- 
ancholy disposition. The mind must be changed for this pur- 
pose, and not the climate. Though you cross the ocean ; though 
(as our Yirgil says) terrceque urbesque recedant ;* whitherso- 
ever you fly, your vices will still follow. Socrates, to one com- 
plaining after the same manner, says, "Why do you wonder 
that travelling does you no good, when, go where you will, 
you carry yourself along with you ? The same cause, that sent 
you out, lies still at heart. What can the novelty of foreign 
lands avail ? what the knowledge of divers cities and countries ? 
It is all a fruitless labor." And do you ask, why this your 
flight is to so little purpose ? It is because, as Socrates said, 
you cannot fly from yourself. The mind's burden must be left 
behind, or you will nowhere find complacency and delight. 

You travel here and there to shake off the inward load ; which 
by such agitation only becomes more troublesome; as in a ship, 
a burden that is fixed and immovable, strains it the less ; while 
such as are movable are apt to sink the side to which they roll, 
by their unequal pressure. In everything you do, you are still 
acting against yourself. The very motion cannot but hurt you ; 
it is shaking a sick man. Get rid of this internal evil, and 
every change of place will be agreeable. Though you are 

1 "We must recollect here that Seneca was not an Epicurean, but a Stoic. 

2 The land and the cities fade from your yiew. 



B. C. 7 -A. D. 65.] SENECA. 515 

driven to the utmost parts of the earth, or confined to some 
corner in a strange land ; be what it will, you may still find 
entertainment. It matters not where you come, but what sort 
of man, you come thither. The mind is not to be devoted to 
any particular place. We must live in the world under this 
persuasion. I am not born for one corner of it more than 
another ; the whole is my native country. 

Was this manifest to you, you would be no longer surprised 
at not finding any benefit from the difference of place, when 
weary of one you fly to another. For the first would have 
pleased you, if you had thought it your own. You do not 
travel, but wander, and are driven about from place to place ; 
whereas what you are in search of, a good life, is to be found 
anywhere. What place can be more turbulent than the forum ? 
yet if you were obliged to live there, even there might you find 
tranquillity : not but that a man, if he was at his own disposal, 
would fly as far as possible from the sight, and much more from 
the neighborhood of such a noisy place. For as a damp and 
foggy air affects even the most firm and healthy constitution ; 
so there are places, if not dangerous, yet very inconvenient, to 
a mind well-disposed, but not fully accomplished. I dissent 
from those who defy a storm ; and not disliking a public and 
busy life, are continually exerting their courage, in struggling 
with, and getting through, difficulties. A wise man would 
endure this, if it fell to his lot ; but he would by no means 
make it his choice. He had rather live in peace, than amidst 
the din of war : for it is of little avail to him, to have thrown 
off his own vices, if he must be perpetually contending with 
those of other men. Thirty tyrants, you say, environed So- 
crates, yet could not break, or bend the steadiness of his mind: 
it matters not how many masters you have ; — slavery is one 
and the same : he that despises this, let his governors be as 
many as they will, is still free. 



REASON PECULIAR TO MAN. 

Know that all things have their proper good. Fertility re- 
commends the vine, as a fine flavor does the juice of the grape; 
the excellency in a stag is swiftness ; in beasts of burden, a 
strong back : an exquisite quickness of scent distinguishes the 
hound ; speed the grayhound ; fierceness and courage the bull- 
dog, or such as are ordained to attack wild beasts : and what 
is the excellency in man ? Reason. It is this, wherein man 



516 SENECA. [b. c. 7 -a. d. 65. 

excels the brute creation, and draws near to the gods. Perfect 
reason, therefore, is the proper good of men. Other qualities 
he hath in common with plants and animals : is he strong ? so 
are lions. Is he beautiful ? so are peacocks. Is he swift? so 
are horses. I do not say how far he may excel, or be excelled 
in any of these points ; for I am not inquiring after what is 
greatest in him, but what is his own. Has he a body? so has 
a tree. Has he internal power of self-motion ? so have beasts, 
and even worms. Hath he a voice? some dogs have a louder ; 
more shrill is that of the eagle, more deep that of the bull ; and 
more sweet and voluble is the voice of the nightingale. What 
then is proper only to man ? Reason. This, when right and 
perfect, completes the happiness of man. If therefore every- 
thing that hath accomplished its own proper good is praise- 
worthy, and hath reached the end of nature's designation ; 
reason being the proper good of man, if he hath perfected the 
same, he is then praiseworthy, and hath attained the end of 
being. Now this reason when perfect is called virtue, or what 
is right and fit in all circumstances. That therefore is the one 
good in man, which is his proper good : for we are not now 
inquiring after what is good, but what is the peculiar good of 
man. If there is no other good peculiar to man, then this is 
the one good, in which is comprehended all other. 



IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 

The soul of man is great, and generous, admitting no other 
bounds to be set to her, than what are common with God. 
First, she acknowledged not any terrestrial city, as Ephesus, 
or Alexandria, or if there be any more populous, and whose 
buildings are more beautiful and of larger extent. No ; she 
claims for her country the universe; the whole convex, wherein 
are included the lands and the seas ; wherein the air expending 
itself between the earth and the heavens, conjoins them both ; 
and wherein are placed the inferior deities, intent to execute 
their commissions. Nor, secondly, does she suffer herself to 
be confined to any number of years. All years, says she, are 
mine. No age is locked up from the penetration of learned 
men ; no time so distant, or dark, that is not pervious to 
thought. 

When the day shall come that will separate this composition, 
human and divine, I will leave this body here, where I found 



B. C. T-A. D. 65.] SENECA. 517 

it, and return to the Gods ; 4 not that I am altogether absent 
from them even now; though detained from superior happiness, 
by this heavy earthly clog. 3 Ttiis short stay in mortal life, is 
but the prelude to a better, and more lasting life above. 3 As 
we are detained nine months in our mother's womb, which pre- 
pares us not for itself, to dwell always therein, but for that 
place whereunto we are sent, as soon as we are fit to breathe 
the vital air, and strong enough, to bear the light ; so, in that 
space of time, which reacheth from infancy to old age inclusive, 
we aspire after another birth as from the womb of Nature. 
Another beginning, another state of things expects us. We 
cannot as yet reach heaven, till duly qualified by this interval. 
Look then with an intrepid eye upon that determined happy 
hour. It is not the last to the soul, if it be to the body. 
Whatever things are spread around thee, look upon them only 
as the furniture of an inn. We must leave them and go on. 
Nature throws us out of the world, as she threw us into it. 
We can carry nothing away with us, as we brought with, us 
nothing into it. 4 Nay, even a great part of that which attended 
us when we came into the world, must be thrown off. This 
skin, which Nature threw over us as a veil, must be stripped 
off: our flesh, and our blood, that so wonderfully circulates 
through every part of it, must be dispersed ; as also the solids, 
the bones and nerves, which supported the fluids and weaker 
parts. That day, which men are apt to dread as their last, is 
but the birthday of an eternity. 

' Then shall the dust return to the earth as it was, and the spirit shall 
return unto God who gave it. — Eccles. xii. 7; iii. 20, 21. 

2 "We are always confident, knowing that, whilst we are at home in the 
body, we are absent from the Lord (for we walk by faith, not by sight) ; we 
are confident, I say, and willing rather to be absent from the body, and to 
be present with the Lord. Wherefore we labor, that, whether present or 
absent, we may be accepted of him. — 2 Cor. v. 6-9. 

3 Some notion and belief of the immortality of the soul and a future state 
obtained among mankind from the most ancient times, and spread generally 
among the nations : not originally as the mere effect of human wisdom and 
reasoning, but as derived by a most ancient tradition from the earliest ages, 
and probably made a part of the primitive religion, communicated by divine 
revelation to the first parents of the human race. The belief of it was coun- 
tenanced and encouraged by the wisest legislators ; but was much weakened 
by the disputes of the philosophers ; and the general corruption of manners : 
from whence is justly inferred the necessity of a divine revelation, to assure 
mankind of the truth of this all-important doctrine. 

4 Be not thou afraid, when one is made rich, when the glory of his house 
is increased ; for when he dieth, he shall carry nothing away ; his glory 
shall not descend after him. — Ps. xlix. 16. Naked came I out of my mother's 
womb, and naked shall I return thither. — Job i. 21. For we brought no- 
thing into this world, and it is certain we can carry nothing out. — 1 Tim. vi. 7. 

44 



518 SENECA. [b. c. 7 -a. d. 65. 

Be resigned, then, and willingly lay your burden down. 
Why do you delay, as if this was the first time that you de- 
parted from a body, wherein you were inclosed ? Still you 
hesitate, and are reluctant ; and it was not without great pain 
and labor your mother was delivered of thee. You sigh and 
cry; thus didst thou weep (as it is usual) when a little infant: 
at such a time excusable indeed, when you came into the world 
a mere novice, ignorant of everything, and when taken out of 
a warm and soft bed, a freer air blew fresh upon you; and 
when you were as yet so tender as not to bear the touch of the 
hard hand, and so great a stranger as to be amazed at every- 
thing you saw around, and knew them not. But now, it can 
be no new thing to you, to be separated from that which was 
a part of you before : throw off then willingly this superfluous 
part ; and patiently quit the body, which you have so long in- 
habited. Why are you so sorrowful ? was it to be torn in 
pieces, or drowned, or burned ? There is nothing in all this 
but what is common. 

The cawl, or covering of new-born infants, soon wasteth 
away and perisheth : so will those worldly goods with which 
you are so enamored : they are but the outward coverings 
wherein you are enwrapped. The day will come that shall 
unfold them and give you liberty, delivering you from this 
filthy apartment wherein you are now quartered. Even now 
desert it as much as possible, and soar aloft ; estranged even 
from those things which seem most necessary and dear to you. 
Meditate something more noble and sublime. That blessed 
day, suppose, when the mysteries of Mature shall be revealed 
to you ; this darkness be dispersed, and the light shall break 
in upon you on every side. Imagine with yourself how great 
that brightness is, where so many stars intermingle their glori- 
ous beams ; a light so serene and clear, that not the least 
shadow of darkness shall rest upon it ; x all heaven shines out 
with equal splendor ; for day and night have their turns only 
on this earthly globe, and the airy regions round about. 

You will then say, you lived in darkness before, when you 
shall behold the full glories of that light, which now thou seest 

1 So St. John, speaking of the new Jerusalem, "And the city had no need 
of the sun, neither of the moon, to shine in it ; for the glory of God did lighten 
it, and the Lamb is the light thereof. And the nations of them which are 
saved shall walk in the light of it ; and the kings of the earth do bring their 
glory and honor into it : and the gates of it shall not be shut at all by day j 
for there shall be no night there." — Rev. xxi. 23 — 25. 






A. D. 38-65.] LUCAN. 519 

dimly, 1 through the narrow circles of the eyes, and yet at so 
great a distance as to fill the mind with admiration and aston- 
ishment. How then will it amaze you, when, I say, you shall 
behold that divine light in its full spread of glory in heaven ? 
Such a reflection as this cannot but raise the mind above every 
mean thought, and deter us from every vile and cruel practice. 
It informs us the Gods are witnesses of all our actions : it com- 
mands us to make ourselves acceptable to them ; to prepare 
ourselves for communion with them ; and have always eternity 
in view; which whoever hath any conception of, he dreads no 
enemies ; he hears the trumpet's sound undismayed ; nor can 
all the threats in the world terrify his manly soul : for why 
should he be afraid of anything ? What can deter him from 
the punctual discharge of every duty, who dies in this hope ; 
when even the man, who thinks that the soul subsists no longer 
than while it is imprisoned in the body, and at its departure 
hence is entirely dissipated and dissolved, yet ceaseth not to 
endeavor to make himself useful, and to live in some measure 
after death ? 



LUCAN. 
a. d. 38—65. 



Marcus Ann^tjs Lucanus, the son of Annseus Mella, a Roman knight 
of large fortune, was born A. D. 38, at Cordova, in Spain, which was 
also the birthplace of the philosopher Seneca. He was taken to Rome 
when quite young, and was there educated under the most distinguished 
professors of rhetoric and philosophy. His talents developed them- 
selves at a very early age, and he was raised to the office of quaestor by 
Nero ; but he soon drew upon himself the resentment of the emperor, 
by disputing with him the prize of poetry in Pompey's amphitheatre, 
and was subsequently interdicted from reciting in public. Stung 
to the quick by this prohibition, he joined at once the conspiracy 
against the emperor's life, which was planned by Piso. 2 When the 
plot was discovered Lucan repented, and was pardoned on the con- 
dition of pointing out his confederates. In the vain hope of escaping 

1 For now we see through a glass darkly, but then face to face ; now I 
know in part ; but then shall I know even as also I am known. — 1 Cor. xiii. 12. 

2 Piso was a tragic poet of some talent, a skilful orator, and a munificent 
man ; but he was deficient in decision, and infirm of purpose ; hence the plot 
failed. 



520 lucan. [a. d. 38-65. 

the vengeance of the monster, he actually impeached his own mother, 

who was innocent. But his death was determined : his only privilege 

was the choice of the manner of death, and he prepared himself to die 

with the courage and calmness of a philosopher. He had his veins 

opened in a hot bath, and bled to death ; repeating, as he expired, 

some verses from the third book of his " Pharsalia," descriptive of a 

soldier cut in two by a grappling hook in a sea-fight : — 

Asunder torn, not from a single wound 
The blood wells slowly forth ; but, pour'd at once, 
Gushes from all the lacerated veins. 
O'er every limb strays warm the crimson life ; 
The waters intercept it, as it flows ; 
K"or e'er, from dying man, the vital stream 
Through such capacious channels ebbed away. 

The only production of Lucan that has come down to us is a heroic 
poem in ten books entitled Pharsalia, which details the struggle be- 
tween Caesar and Pompey, arranged in chronological order, beginning 
with the passage of the Rubicon, B. C. 49, and ending with the battle 
of Pharsalia, B. C. 48. It is a very unequal poem, being defaced with 
great faults and blemishes, while at the same time it possesses pecu- 
liar beauties ; so that no author has so divided the critics. Its sub- 
ject is full of historic interest, and is treated with spirit, brilliancy, 
and animation ; but it was so near the author's own time, that little 
room was left for the play of the imagination. Still, the historic 
pictures themselves are beautifully drawn, and the characters of 
Csesar and Pompey have been much admired for their beauty and 
faithfulness. But in all our criticisms of the "Pharsalia," the incom- 
pleteness of the work, and the youth of the writer, who died at the 
age of twenty-seven, should be taken into consideration. 1 

1 A modern critic remarks : " We find in Lucan almost every quality re- 
quisite to form a great poet, but the action of each is clogged, and the effect 
neutralized by some grievous perversity. We discover copious diction, lively 
imagination, vast power, high enthusiasm, burning energy, great learning, 
a bold and masculine tone of thought, deep reflection, and political wisdom ; 
but the power being ill-governed, communicates a jarring irregularity to the 
whole mechanism of the piece ; the enthusiasm under no control runs wild 
into extravagant folly, and the language flows in a strong and copious but 
turbid stream j the learning is disfigured by pedantic display ; the imagina- 
tion of the poet exhausts itself in far-fetched conceits and unnatural similes ; 
the philosophic maxims obtruded at unseasonable moments are received with 
impatience and disgust; we distinctly perceive throughout vigorous genius 
struggling, but in vain, against the paralyzing influence of a corrupt system 
of mental culture and a depraved standard of national taste." — Prof. Ram- 
say, of Glasgow. 

The most elaborate editions of Lucan are those of Oudendorp, 4to., Lagd. 
Bat., 1728. and of Burmann, 4to., Leid., 1740. But the most useful for all 
practical purposes is that of Weber, 8vo., Leipsic, 1821-1831, three volumes, 
which contains a full collection of scolia and commentaries, and various dis- 
sertations. The best translation in English is that of Rowe, which was first 
published in 1718, in 4to., and has been reprinted in various forms since. 



A. D. 38-65.] LUCAN. 521 



STATE OF ROME, 
AND CHARACTERS OF POMPEY AND CJESAR. 

My spirit prompts me to unfold the springs 
Of these so dread events : a task immense 
Opens before me. By what causes urged 
The people madden'd into war, and peace 
Was shaken from the world ; the course of Fates 
Malignant, and the footing frail of power 
In its high places ; empire headlong push'd 
By its unwieldy weight ; and Rome oppress'd 
With her own greatness. Thus, when this huge earth, 
Unhinged, shall tremble, and her final hour 
Close the long ages of successive time, 
At once the frame of matter shall relapse 
In ancient chaos ; planets hurtling shock, 
And fiery stars plunge headlong in the sea ; 
The earth no longer stretch its bounding shores, 
But shake the waters forth ; the moon disdain 
Along her winding orbit to direct 
Her sloping chariot, but in western skies 
Shall front the sun, and half usurp the day ; 
The whole machine, its elemental laws 
Disturb 'd, shall in disjointed ruin yawn, 
And reel to dissolution. Greatness thus 
Falls inward on itself. The Gods forbade 
The spread of prosperous glory, and affix'd 
This fatal limit. Fortune aids not now 
The hate of nations, enviously combined 
Against the mistress of the earth and main : 
Thou art, thyself, the cause, unhappy Rome ! 
The common portion of a triple power. 
Three lords divide thy rule-, but never yet 
A reigning multitude had grasp'd the rod. 
Oh ill allied ! and blind with lust of sway ! 
Why mix your strength, and hold the universe 
Suspended in the balance ? while the sea 
Floats upon earth, and buoyant earth on air ; 
While in long labors rolls the solar orb ; 
While night, along the signs that gird the sky, 
Treads on the track of day ; so long, in vain, 
Would faith be sought in partnership of rule. 
All power disdains associates. Nor, for this, 
Let other nations urge your slow belief, 
Nor yet explore these instances of Fate 
With search remote. Behold ! our infant walls 
Reek'd with a brother's blood : nor then was earth, 
Or sea, the price of this unnatural rage : 
The mean asylum of a vagrant crowd 
44* 



522 lucan. [a. d. 38-65. 

Moved the fraternal strife. Short time remain'd 
This inharmonious concord ; this fair show 
Of an unwilling peace. Between the chiefs, 
Crassus alone, with interposed delay, 
Repell'd the future war. * * * 

The jealous pride 
Of equal valor stung the two to wrath. 
Thou, Pompey! fear'st lest new exploits eclipse 
Thy ancient triumphs ; lest the vanquish'd Gauls 
Blast thy piratic laurels. Thee a course 
Of labors, and experience of renown, 
And a proud fortune, which impatient spurns 
A secondary rank, arouse to arms. 
Nor Caesar can to aught superior bow, 
Nor Pompey bear an equal. But to know 
"Which in the juster quarrel drew the sword, 
Exceeds our power. With either party sides 
A mighty judge. Heaven owns the conquering cause, 
Cato the vanquish'd. Not on equal terms 
Close the great rivals in the lists of war. 
The one declines into the vale of life : 
Calm in the habits of the gown, he now 
Had half unlearn'd the chieftain's art, more apt 
To court the multitude for noisy fame, 
And deal his liberal largess to the crowd ; 
Hang on the popular breath, and joy to hear, 
Round his own theatre, the rising shout 
Applaud his entrance. Nor with strength new nerved 
Repairs his youthful vigor ; bat, secure 
Of glory, on his former fortunes leans. 
He stood, the shadow of a mighty name. 
As, on some acorn-teeming plain, an oak, 
Bearing aloft a people's spoils of yore, 
And consecrated gifts of chieftains old, 
No longer clings to vigorous roots, but stands 
By its own weight made steadfast, and, in air 
Spreading abroad its bare and straggling boughs, 
Casts with its trunk a shadow, not with leaves ; 
Though, at the first rush of the eastern blast, 
It nods from high, and rocks, as to its fall ; 
Though all around, woods rise of firmer stem, 
Its reverend pomp remains. But no such name 
Of old renown, nor glory of the field 
Was Caesar's ; but a valor that could brook 
No rest : his only shame was victory won 
By aught but open force ; a spirit keen, 
And unsubdued ; at beck of sanguine hope, 
Or anger, prompt to rush ; and never slow, 
On rash occasion's spur, to stain the sword. 
Fervid to push success ; adroit to seize 
Th' auspicious hour of fortune ; beating down 
All obstacles, while pressing to the heights ; 



A. d. 38-65.] lucan. 523 

And glorying still to hew himself a path 
Through havoc and destruction. 

Elton. 

PASSAGE OF THE RUBICON. 

Now Csesar, marching swift with winged haste, 
The summits of the frozen Alps had past ; 
With vast events and enterprises fraught, 
And future wars revolving in his thought. 
Now near the hanks of Rubicon he stood ; 
When lo ! as he surveyed the narrow flood, 
Amidst the dusky horrors of the night, 
A wondrous vision stood confessed to sight. 
Her awful head Rome's reverend image reared, 
Trembling and sad the matron form appeared ; 
A towering crown her hoary temples bound, 
And her torn tresses rudely hung around ; 
Her naked arms uplifted ere she spoke, 
Then, groaning, thus the mournful silence broke : 
" Presumptuous men ! oh, whither do you run ? 
Oh, whither bear you these my ensigns on ? 
If friends to right, if citizens of Rome, 
Here to your utmost barrier are you come." 
She said ; and sunk within the closing shade. 
Astonishment and dread the chief invade ; 
Stiff rose his starting hair ; he stood dismayed, 
And on the bank his slackening steps were stayed, 
•x- * *■ * # * 

The leader now had passed the torrent o'er, 
And reached fair Italy's forbidden shore ; 
Then rearing on the hostile bank his head, 
Here farewell peace and injured laws ! he said : 
Since faith is broke, and leagues are set aside, ~\ 
Henceforth thou, goddess Fortune, art my bride ! I 
Let fate and war the great event decide. J 

Rowe. 

FLIGHT OF POMPEY. 

At length arriv'd, with the revolving night, 
The chosen hour appointed for his flight :' 
He bids his friends prevent the seamen's roar, 
And still the deaf'ning clamors on the shore : 
No trumpets may the watch by hours renew, 
Nor sounding signals call aboard the crew. 
The heav'nly maid her course had almost run, 2 
And Libra waited on the rising sun, 

1 Pompey's flight from Brundusium, when he was in danger of being shut 
up by Ceesar. 

2 This points out the time to be in the morning before sunrise, about the 
beginning of September. 



524 lucan. [a. d. 38-65. 

When, husli'd in silence deep, they leave the land : ") 

No loud mouth'd voices call, with hoarse command, j- 

To heave the flooky anchors from the sand. J 

Lowly the careful master's orders past, 

To "brace the yards, and rear the lofty mast : 

Silent they spread the sails, the cables haul, 

Nor to their mates for aid, tumultuous, call. 

The chief himself to Fortune hreath'd a pray'r, 

At length to take him to her kinder care : 

That swiftly he might pass the liquid deep, 

And lose the land which she forhad to keep. 

Hardly the boon his niggard fate allow 'd, 

Unwillingly the murm'ring seas were plough'd : 

The foamy furrows roar'd beneath his prow, 

Aud sounding to the shore alarm'd the foe. 

Straight thro' the town their swift pursuit they sped, 

(For wide her gates the faithless city spread), 

Along the winding port they took their way, 

And griev'd to find the fleet had gain'd the sea. 

Rowe. 

DEATH OP POMPEY. 

Now in the boat defenceless Poropey sat, 

Surrounded and abandoned to his fate. 

Nor long they hold him in their power aboard, 

E'en every villain drew his ruthless sword : 

The chief perceived their purpose soon, and spread 

His Roman gown, with patience, o'er his head ; 

And when the cursed Achillas pierced his breast, 

His rising indignation close repressed. 

No sighs, no groans, his dignity profaned, 

No tear his still unsullied glory stained. 

Unmoved and firm he fixed him on his seat, 

And died, as when he lived and conquered, great. 

Rowe. 



LUXURY THE BANE OF NATIONS. 

Those fatal seeds luxurious vices sow, 
Which ever lay a mighty people low. 
To Rome the vanquish'd earth her tribute paid, 
And deadly treasures to her view display'd : 
Then truth and simple manners left the place, 
While riot rear'd her lewd dishonest face : 
Virtue to full prosperity gave way, 
And fled from rapine and the lust of prey. 
On every side proud palaces arise, 
And lavish gold each common use supplies : 
Their father's frugal tables stand abhorr'd, 
While foreign dainties smoke upon the board : 



A. d. 38-65.] lucan. 525 

In silken robes the minion men appear, 

Which maids and youthful brides should blush to wear. 

That age, by honest poverty adorn'd, 

Which brought the manly Romans forth, is scorn 'd : 

Wherever aught pernicious does abound, ") 

For luxury all lands are ransack'd round, v 

And dear-bought deaths the sinking state confound. J 

Hence wrath and rage their ready minds invade, 
And want could ev'ry wickedness persuade : 
Hence impious pow'r was first esteem'd a good, 
Sought for by arms, and bought with streams of blood : 
With glory, tyrants did their country awe, 
And violence prescrib'd the rule to law. 
Hence pliant servile voices were constrain'd, 
And force in popular assemblies reign'd : 
Consuls and tribunes, with opposing might, 
Join'd to confound and overturn the right : 
Hence shameful magistrates were made for gold, 
And a base people by themselves were sold : 
Hence slaughter in the venal field returns, 
And Rome her yearly competition mourns : 
Hence debt unthrifty, careless to repay, 
And usury still watching for its day : 
Hence perjuries in ev'ry wrangling court : 
And war, the needy bankrupt's last resort. 



Rowe. 



CHARACTER OF CATO. 

No stings of private hate his peace molest, 
Nor partial favor grew upon his breast : 
But safe from prejudice he kept his mind, 
Free, and at leisure to lament mankind. 
These were the stricter manners of the man, 
And this the stubborn course in which they ran 
The golden mean, unchanging, to pursue : 
Constant to keep the purpos'd end in view : 
Religiously to follow nature's laws, 
And die, with pleasure, in his country's cause : 
To think he was not for himself design'd, 
But born to be of use to all mankind. 
To him 'twas feasting, hunger to repress : 
And homespun garments were his costly dress. 
No marble pillars rear'd his roof on high, 
'Twas warm, and kept him from the winter sky : 
He sought no end of marriage, but increase : 
Nor wish'd a pleasure, but his country's peace : 
That took up all the tend'rest parts of life, 
His country was his children and his wife. 
From justice' righteous rules he never swerv'd, 
But rigidly his honesty preserv'd : 



526 PLINY THE ELDER. [A. D. 23-79. 

On universal good his thoughts were bent, 
Nor knew what gain, or self-affection meant : 
And while his benefits the public share, 
Cato was always last in Cato's care.' 

. Rowe. 



PLINY THE ELDER. 

a. d. 23—79. 

Caius Plinius Secundus, surnamed the Elder (Major), to distinguish 
him from his nephew, who was commonly called "Pliny the Younger," 
was born at Verona, or, as some maintain, at Comum, A. D. 23. Of 
the particular events of his life we know but little. He came to Rome 
at an early age, and, having ample means, he availed himself of the 
best teachers the city afforded. When about twenty-two years of age 
he resided for a time on the coast of Africa, but for what object, or in 
what capacity, we are not informed. He also served in the Roman 
army in Germany, and held a command in the cavalry under Lucius 
Pomponius. Afterwards he practised at Rome as a pleader of causes, 
though he does not appear to have gained much distinction thereby. 
During a greater part of the reign of Nero he spent his time in retire- 
ment at Comum, employed in the education of his nephew. Subse- 
quently he held the office of procurator in Spain, where it is supposed 
he remained during the wars of Gralba, Otho, and Vitellius. Returning 
to Rome, he enjoyed the favor of Vespasian, and at the time of his 
death, under Titus, was commander of the Roman fleet at Misenum. 
He lost his life by the celebrated eruption of Vesuvius, A. D. 79, by 
which Herculaneum and Pompeii were destroyed ; the particulars of 
which are given by his nephew in a letter to the historian Tacitus. 
Observing, on the 24th of August of that year, from his ship at 
Misenum (a few miles from Vesuvius), a cloud of unusual size and 
shape rising to a great height from the mount, he directed a light 
vessel to be got ready, in which he embarked, sailed across the bay, 
and landed near the foot of the mountain. Determined to examine 
for himself the unusual phenomenon, he went on against all remon- 
strances, though showers of ashes had already begun to fall ; and in 
consequence he was soon suffocated, and perished. His body was 
afterwards found without any marks of fire upon it, and even his 
clothes were not disordered. 

The only work of Pliny, of any consequence, which has been pre- 



A. D. 23-T9.] PLINY THE ELDER. 521 

served to us, is his Historia Naturalis, Natural History, by which term 
the ancients understood more than is included in it by modern writers. 
It embraced astronomy, meteorology, geography, mineralogy, zoology, 
botany, &c. — in short, everything that does not relate to the results 
of human skill or the products of the human faculties. The work 
consists of thirty-seven books. The first is a sort of index or table 
giving a general view of the contents of the whole work ; the second 
treats of subjects belonging to cosmography and astronomy ; the third 
to the sixth inclusive contain a description of the earth, its countries 
and inhabitants, forming a sort of universal geography ; the seventh to 
the eleventh inclusive relate principally to animals or zoology ; the 
twelfth to the nineteenth treat of plants or botany; with the twentieth 
begins a description of medicines, which is continued through thirteen 
books, treating first of the vegetable kingdom (from the twentieth to 
the twenty-seventh), then of the animal (from the twenty-eighth to the 
thirty-second), while the remaining five books (from the thirty-third to 
the thirty-seventh) are devoted to the mineral kingdom, comprising 
notices of the medicinal properties of metals and stones, and to the 
fine arts, painting, sculpture, &c, with notices of the principal ancient 
artists and their productions. This great work of Pliny is certainly a 
wonderful monument of studious diligence and persevering industry, 
but it shows a most credulous love of the marvellous, and a want of 
judgment in comparing and selecting facts, and is deficient in scien- 
tific value and philosophical arrangement. 1 



OF THE HARMONY OF THE STARS. 3 

Pythagoras, employing the terms that are used in music, 
sometimes names the distance between the Earth and the 
Moon a tone ; from her to Mercury he supposes to be half 

1 The editions of Pliny's Natural History are very numerous. One of the 
best is that published by Panckoucke, Paris, 1829-1833, in twenty volumes, 
with a French translation, and enriched by many valuable notes by Cuvier 
and other eminent scientific and literary men of Prance. A valuable critical 
edition of the text, is by Sillig, Leipsic, 1831-36, five volumes 12mo. Hol- 
land's English translation, first published in London in 1601, has been often 
reprinted. A new translation by John Bostock and H. T. Riley has been 
printed in Bohn's Classical Library, in six volumes. 

3 This was what the ancients understood by the harmony of the spheres. 
So Dryden, in his Song for St. Cecilia's Day: — 

From harmony, from heavenly harmony, 
This universal frame began : 
From harmony to harmony 
Through all the compass of the notes it ran, 
The diapason closing full in man. 



528 PLINY THE ELDER. [a. D. 23-79. 

this space, and about the same from him to Yenus. From her 
to the Sun is a tone and a half; from the Sun to Mars is a 
tone, the same as from the Earth to the Moon ; from him there 
is half a tone to Jupiter, from Jupiter to Saturn also half a 
tone, and thence a tone and a half to the zodiac. Hence there 
are seven tones, which he terms the diapason harmony, meaning 
the whole compass of the notes. In this, Saturn is said to 
move in the Doric time, Jupiter in the Phrygian, and so forth 
of the rest; but this is a refinement rather amusing than 
useful. 

Bohris Library. 
NATURE OF THE EARTH. 

Next comes the earth, on which alone of all parts of nature 
we have bestowed the name that implies maternal veneration. 
It is appropriated to man as the heavens are to God. She 
receives us at our birth, nourishes us when born, and ever 
afterwards supports us. Lastly, embracing us in her bosom 
when we are rejected by the rest of nature, she then covers us 
with especial tenderness ; rendered sacred to us, inasmuch as 
she renders us sacred, bearing our monuments and titles, con- 
tinuing our names, and extending our memory, in opposition 
to the shortness of life. In our anger we imprecate her on 
those who are now no more, as if we were ignorant that she is 
the only being who can never be angry with man. The water 
passes into showers, is concreted into hail, swells into rivers, is 
precipitated in torrents ; the air is condensed into clouds, rages 
in squalls ; but the earth, kind, mild, and indulgent as she is, 
and always ministering to the wants of mortals, how many 
things do we compel her to produce spontaneously ! What 
odors and flowers, nutritive juices, forms and colors! With 
what good faith does she render back all that has been intrusted 
to her ! She pours forth a profusion of medicinal plants, and 
is always producing something for the use of man. But it must 
be acknowledged, that everything which the earth has pro- 
duced, as a remedy for our evils, we have converted into the 
poison of our lives. For do we not use iron, which we cannot 
do without, for this purpose? But although this cause of mis- 
chief has been produced, we ought not to complain ; we ought 
not to be ungrateful to this one part of nature. How many 
luxuries and how many insults does she not bear for us ! She 
is cast into the sea, and, in order that we may introduce seas 
into her bosom, she is washed away by the waves. She is con- 



A. D. 23—79.1 PLINY THE ELDER. 529 

tinually tortured for her iron, her timber, stone, fire, corn, and 
is even much more subservient to our luxuries than to our mere 
support. What indeed she endures on her surface might be 
tolerated, but we penetrate also into her bowels, digging out 
the veins of gold and silver, and the ores of copper and lead ; 
we also search for gems and certain small pebbles, driving our 
trenches to a great depth. We tear out her entrails in order 
to extract the gems with which we may load our fingers. How 
many hands are worn down that one little joint may be orna- 
mented ! And if the infernal regions really existed, certainly 
these burrows of avarice and luxury would have penetrated 
into them. 

Bohrts Library. 



NATURE OF MAN. 

Our first attention is justly due to man, for whose sake all 
other things appear to have been produced by nature; though, 
on the other hand, with so great and so severe penalties for the 
enjoyment of her bounteous gifts, that it is far from easy to 
determine, whether she has proved to him a kind parent, or a 
merciless stepmother. In the first place, she obliges him alone, 
of all. animated beings, to clothe himself with the spoils of the 
others ; while, to all the rest, she has given various kinds of 
coverings, such as shells, crusts, spines, hides, furs, bristles, 
hair, down, feathers, scales, and fleeces. The very trunks of 
the trees, even, she has protected against the effects of heat and 
cold by a bark, which is, in some cases, twofold. Man alone, 
at the very moment of his birth cast naked upon the naked 
earth, 1 does she abandon to cries, to lamentations, and, a thing 
that is the case with no other animal whatever, to tears ; this, 
too, from the very moment that he enters upon existence. But 
as for laughter, why, by Hercules ! — to laugh, if but for an 
instant only, has never been granted to man before the fortieth 
day from his birth, and then it is looked upon as a miracle of 
precocity. Introduced thus to the light, man has fetters and 
swathings instantly put upon all his limbs, 2 a thing that falls 

1 It seems to have been the custom among the ancients to place the new- 
born child upon the ground immediately after its birth. 

2 We may hence conclude, that the practice of swathing young infants in 
tight bandages prevailed at Rome, in the time of Pliny, as it still does in 
Prance, and many parts of the continent ; although it has, for some years, 
been generally discontinued in England and in our country. Buffon warmly 
condemned this injurious system, eighty years ago, but without effect. 

45 



530 PLINY THE ELDER. [a. D. 23-? 9. 

to the lot of none of the brutes even that are born among us. 
Born to such singular good fortune, there lies the animal, which 
is destined to command all the others, lies, fast bound hand and 
foot, and weeping aloud ! such being the penalty which he has 
to pay on beginning life, and that for the sole fault of having 
been born. Alas ! for the folly of those who can think after 
such a beginning as this, that they have been born for the dis- 
play of vanity! 

The earliest presage of future strength, the earliest bounty 
of time, confers upon him naught but the resemblance to a 
quadruped. 1 How soon does man gain the power of walking? 
How soon does he gain the faculty of speech ? How soon is 
his mouth fitted for mastication ? How long are the pulsations 
of the crown of his head to proclaim him the weakest of all 
animated beings ? And then, the diseases to which he is sub- 
ject, the numerous remedies which he is obliged to devise 
against his maladies, and those thwarted every now and then 
by new forms and features of disease. 2 "While other animals 
have an instinctive knowledge of their natural powers ; some 
of their swiftness of pace, some of their rapidity of flight, and 
some again of their power of swimming ; man is the only one 
that knows nothing, that can learn nothing without being 
taught ; he can neither speak, nor walk, nor eat, 3 and, in short, 
he can do nothing, at the prompting of nature only, but weep. 

To man alone, of all animated beings, has it been given, to 
grieve, to him alone to be guilty of luxury and excess ; and 
that in modes innumerable, and in every part of his body. 
Man is the only being that is a prey to ambition, to avarice, to 
an immoderate desire of life, to superstition — he is the only 
one that troubles himself about his burial, and even what is to 
become of him after death. By none is life held on a tenure 

1 This reminds us of the terms of the riddle proposed to (Edipus by the 
Sphinx : "What being is that, which, with four feet, has two feet and three 
feet, and only one voice ; but its feet vary, and where it has most it is weak- 
est?" to which he answered, That it is man, who is a quadruped (going on 
feet and hands) in childhood, two-footed in manhood, and moving with the 
aid of a staff in old age. 

2 There is little doubt that new forms and features of disease are continu- 
ally making their appearance among mankind, and even the same peoples, 
and have been from the earliest period,- it was so at Rome, in the days of 
the republic and of the emperors. It is not improbable that these new forms 
of disease depend greatly upon changes in the temperature and diet. The 
plagues of 1348, 1666, and the Asiatic cholera of the present day, are not 
improbably various features of what may be radically the same disease. 

3 Pliny forgets, however, that infants do not require to be taught how to 
suck. 






A. D. 23-19.] PLINY THE ELDER. 531 

more frail ; none are more influenced by unbridled desires for 
all things ; none are sensible of fears more bewildering ; none 
are actuated by rage more frantic and violent. Other animals, 
in fine, live at peace with those of their own kind; we only 
see them unite to make a stand against those of a different 
species. The fierceness of the lion is not expended in fighting 
with its owm kind ; the sting of the serpent is not aimed at the 
serpent ; and the monsters of the sea even, and the fishes, vent 
their rage only on those of a different species. But with man 
— by Hercules ! most of Ids misfortunes are occasioned by 
man. 1 



CHARACTER OF JULIUS C^SAR. 

The most remarkable instance, I think, of vigor of mind in 
any man ever born, was that of Caesar, the dictator. I am not 
at present alluding to his valor and courage, nor yet his exalted 
genius, which was capable of embracing everything under the 
face of heaven; but I am speaking of that innate vigor of mind, 
which was so peculiar to him, and that promptness which 
seemed to act like a flash of lightning. We find it stated that 
he was able to write or read, and, at the same time, to dictate 
and listen. He could dictate to his secretaries four letters at 
once, and those on the most important business ; and, indeed, 
if he was busy about nothing else, as many as seven. He 
fought as many as fifty pitched battles, being the only com- 
mander who exceeded M. Marcellus, in this respect, he having 
fought only thirty-nine. . In addition, too, to the victories 
gained by him in the civil wars, one million one hundred and 
ninety-two thousand men Were slain by him in his battles. For 
my own part, however, I am not going to set it down as a 
subject for high renown, what was really an outrage committed 
upon mankind, even though he may have been acting under 
the strong influence of necessity; and, indeed, he himself con- 
fesses as much, in his omission to state the number of persons 
who perished by the sword in the civil wars. 

But we must with equal justice give Caesar the peculiar credit 
of a remarkable degree of clemency, a quality, in the exercise 
of which, even to repentance, he excelled all other individuals 

1 It was this feeling that prompted the common saying among the ancients, 
"Homo homini lupus" — "Man toman is a wolf;" and most true it is, as 
Burns has said, that 

"Man's inhumanity to man makes countless thousands mourn." 



532 PLINY THE ELDER. [a. D. 23-19. 

whatsoever. The same person has left us one instance of mag- 
nanimity, to which there is nothing that can be at all compared. 
While one, who was an admirer of luxury, might perhaps on 
this occasion have enumerated the spectacles which he exhibited, 
the treasures which he lavished away, and the magnificence of 
his public works, I maintain that it was the great proof, and an 
incomparable one, of an elevated mind, for him to have burnt 
with the most scrupulous carefulness the papers of Pompeins, 
which were taken in his desk at the battle of Pharsalia, and 
those of Scipio, taken at Thapsus, without so much as reading 
them. 



MEN REMARKABLE FOR WISDOM. 

Dionysius the tyrant, who otherwise manifested a natural 
propensity for cruelty and pride, sent a vessel crowned with 
garlands to meet Plato, that high-priest of wisdom ; and on 
his disembarkation, received him on the shore, in a chariot 
drawn by four white horses. Tsocrates was able to sell a 
single oration of his for twenty talents. ^Eschines, the great 
Athenian orator, after he had read to the Rhodians the speech 
which he had made on the accusation of Demosthenes, read the 
defence made by Demosthenes, through which he had been 
driven into exile among them. When they expressed their 
admiration of it, "How much more," said he, "would you have 
admired it, if you had heard him deliver it himself;" a striking 
testimony, indeed, given in adversity, to the merit of an enemy ! 
The Athenians sent their general, Thucyclides, into banishment, 
but recalled him as their historian, admiring his eloquence, 
though they had punished his want of valor. 1 A strong testi- 

1 This is rather a strong expression, and it is doubtful if the great historian 
at all deserves it. The facts of the case seem to have been as follows. Thu- 
cyclides was employed in a military capacity, and was in command of an 
Athenian squadron of seven ships at Thasos, B. C, 424, when Eucles, who 
commanded in Amphipolis, sent for his assistance against Brasidas, who was 
before that town with an army. Fearing the arrival of a superior force, 
Brasidas offered favorable terms to Amphipolis, which were readily accepted, 
as there were but few Athenians in the place. Thucydides arrived at Eion, 
on the mouth of the Strymon, the evening of the same day on which Amphi- 
polis surrendered : and though too late to save Amphipolis, prevented Eion 
from falling into the hands of the enemy. It was in consequence of this 
failure, that he became voluntarily an exile, perhaps to avoid the still severer 
punishment of death, which appears to have been the penalty of such a failure 
as that which he had, though unavoidably, committed. It is most probable 
that he returned to Athens about B. C. 403, the period of its liberation by 
Thrasybulus. 



A. D. 23-19.] PLINY THE ELDER. 533 

mony, too, was girni to the merit of Menander, the famous 
comic poet, by the kings of Egypt and Macedonia, in sending 
to him a fleet and an embassy; though, what was still more 
honorable to him, he preferred enjoying the converse of his 
literary pursuits to the favor of kings. 

The nobles too of Rome have given their testimonies in favor 
of foreigners, even. Cn. Pompeius, after having finished the 
war against Mithridates, when he went to call at the house of 
Posidonius, the famous teacher of philosophy, forbade the 
lictor to knock at the door, as was the usual custom ; and he, 
to whom both the eastern and the western world had yielded 
submission, ordered the fasces to be ldwered before the door 
of a learned man. 

The elder Africanus ordered that the statue of Ennius should 
be placed in his tomb, and that the illustrious surname, which 
he had acquired, I may say, as his share of the spoil on the 
conquest of the third part of the world, should be read over 
his ashes, along with the name of the poet. The emperor 
Augustus, now deified, forbade the works of Virgil to be burnt, 
in opposition to the modest directions to that effect, which the 
poet had left in his will: a prohibition which. was a greater 
compliment paid to his merit, than if he himself had recom- 
mended his works. 

But what atonement could I offer to thee, Marcus Tullius, 
were I to be silent respecting thy name ? or on what ground 
am I to pronounce thee as especially pre-eminent ? On what, 
indeed, that can be more convincing than the most abundant 
testimony that was offered in thy favor by the whole Roman 
people ; contenting myself with the selection only of such of 
the great actions of the whole of your life, as were performed 
during your consulship. You speak, and the tribes surrender 
the Agrarian law, or, in other words, their very subsistence ; 
you advise them to do so, and they pardon Roscius, 1 the author 
of the law for the regulation of the theatres, and, without any 
feelings of resentment, allow a mark to be put upon themselves 
by allotting them an inferior seat ; you entreat, and the sons 
of proscribed men blush at having canvassed for public honors : 
before your genius, Catiline took to flight, and it was you who 
proscribed M. Antonius. Hail then to thee, who wast the first 

1 The individual referred to is L. Roscius Otho ; by his law the Roman 
Eqtiites, who, before this time, sat mingled with the people generally, had 
appropriate seats allotted to them. Cicero designates this oration, "De 
Othone." 

45* 



534 PLINY THE ELDER. [a. D. 23-79. 

of all to receive the title of father of thy country ; who wast the 
first of all, while wearing the toga, to merit a triumph, and 
who didst obtain the laurel for oratory. Great father, thou, of 
eloquence and of Latin literature ! as the dictator Caesar, once 
thy enemy, wrote in testimony of thee, thou didst require a 
laurel superior to every triumph ! How far greater and more 
glorious to have enlarged so immeasurably the boundaries of 
the Roman genius, than those of its sway! 



DRUNKENNESS. 

If any one will take the trouble duly to consider the matter, 
he will find that upon no one subject is the industry of man 
kept more constantly on the alert than upon the making of 
wine ; as if nature had not given us water as a beverage, the 
one, in fact, of which all other animals make use. We, on the 
other hand, even go so far as to make our very beasts of burden 
drink wine : so vast are our efforts, so vast our labors, and so 
boundless the cost which we thus lavish upon a liquid which 
deprives man of his reason and drives him to frenzy and to the 
commission of a thousand crimes ! So great, however, are its 
attractions, that a great part of mankind are of opinion that 
there is nothing else in life worth living for. Xay, what is 
even more than this, that we may be enabled to swallow all the 
more, we have adopted the plan of diminishing its strength by 
pressing it through filters of cloth, and have devised numerous 
inventions whereby to create an artificial thirst. * * * 

Then it is that all the secrets of the mind are revealed ; one 
man is heard to disclose the provisions of his will, another lets 
fall some expression of fatal import, and so fails to keep to 
himself words which will be sure to come home to him with a 
cut throat. And how many a man has met his death in this 
fashion! Indeed, it has become quite a common proverb, that 
"in wine there is truth." 

From wine, too, comes that pallid hue, those drooping eye- 
lids, those sore eyes, those tremulous hands, unable to hold 
with steadiness the overflowing vessel, condign punishment in 
the shape of sleep agitated by furies during the restless night, 
and, the supreme reward of inebriety, those dreams of mon- 
strous lustfuluess and of forbidden delights. Then on the next 
day there is the breath reeking of the wine-cask, and a nearly 
total obliviousness of everything, from the annihilation of the 
powers of the memory. And this, too, is what they call "seiz- 



A. D. 61-110.] PLTNY THE YOUNGER. 535 

ing the moments of life !" whereas, in reality, while other men 
lose the day that has gone before, the drinker has already lost 
the one that is to come. * * * * 

In fact, such is the infallible characteristic of drunkenness, 
the more a person is in the habit of drinking, the more eager he 
is for drink ; and the remark of the Scythian ambassador is as 
true as it is well known — the more the Parthians drank, the 
thirstier they were for it. 



PLINY THE YOUNGER. 
a. d. 61—110. 

C. Plinius CiECiLius Secundus, the nephew of the historian Pliny, 
was horn at Comum, A. D. 61. His father, C. Crecilius, died when he 
was young, and his education was intrusted to his uncle, and hence 
he took the name of Plinius. From his very youth he was devoted to 
literature, in which he made such rapid progress that he came to he 
considered one of the most learned men of his age. He was also an 
orator, and when hut nineteen he began to speak in the forum. He 
went through the whole succession of public offices, from that of 
quaestor to the highest dignities of consul and augur, and was so 
esteemed by the Emperor Trajan as to be selected by him for the 
government of Bithynia, because there were many abuses in that pro- 
vince which required a man of integrity and ability to remove. It 
was while here that he received from the emperor that celebrated 
letter which gave him instructions how to proceed with the Christians ; 
and his reply is highly valuable, as showing not only the progress 
which Christianity had then made, but also the purity of the lives of 
its professors, against whom no wrong conduct of any kind could be 
alleged. 

The date of Pliny's death is uncertain. As a man, he appears to 
have possessed great excellence of character — to have been gentle, 
refined, and benevolent. He was rich, but seems to have known how 
money should be used — in doing good. He contributed a third part of 
the sum requisite to found a school in his native place, for the educa- 
tion of its youth; he also founded a public library there, and esta- 
blished a fund for the benefit of poorer scholars. Thus he showed that, 
in addition to a mind which was captivated by the love of letters, and 
successfully engaged in the cultivation of them, he possessed a heart 



536 PLINY THE YOUNGER. [A. D. 61-110. 

in which, all the charities resided. He was amiable to his acquaint- 
ance, and benevolent to all. Had a longer life than that of little 
more than half a century been granted to him, it is probable that 
posterity would have received more testimonies of his genius and his 
virtues. His panegyric on Trajan is the language equally of praise 
and of truth, and is perhaps the only work which may serve as an 
object of comparison with the style of the preceding age. It was not 
published for many years after he had returned thanks to the emperor 
for appointing him consul. Praise to benefactors, when extended to 
topics of general character, is often extravagant, and sometimes unjust ; 
yet in this instance, it had the rare advantage of being grounded on 
incontestable facts. History accords with his eulogium, and, when 
with the portrait of a virtuous prince he contrasts that of the tyrants 
who had preceded him, the contrast renders it more striking and 
valuable. Pliny says, his first object is to render to a great prince 
the homage that is due to his virtues ; then to present to his succes- 
sors not rules of conduct, but a model which may teach them to 
deserve an equal share of glory by the same means : that to dictate to 
sovereigns what they ought to be, is painful and presumptuous ; to 
praise him who acts well, in such a manner that the eulogium may 
serve as a lesson to others, and be a light to conduct them on their 
way, is an enterprise not less useful and much more modest. 

After having stigmatized the baseness and unworthiness of those 
emperors who only checked the incursions of the barbarians by pecu- 
niary donations, and purchased captives to be the ornaments of an 
illusory triumph, he exhibits a very different conduct in his illus- 
trious hero. 

Pliny has also left a collection of "Letters," in ten books, which are 
valuable not only for the insight they give into his own character, but 
for the information they convey of the manners and modes of thought 
of- his illustrious contemporaries, as well as of the politics of the day. 
But in these "Letters" we search in vain for that familiar ease and 
that disclosure of the heart, which are the proper characteristics of 
epistolary correspondence. It is much to be regretted that we have 
only such letters as were written for posterity; for however varied 
and agreeable their manner, and in however amiable a light they 
exhibit the author, they cannot be relied upon as a faithful image of 
his mind. Ten books of them were selected by him, and prepared for 
the public. The names of the persons to whom they are addressed 
are those of his contemporaries most celebrated for their talents and 
their virtues ; and the sentiments he expresses are worthy of such 
connections. He interests us equally for the friends whose loss he 



A. D. 61-110.] TLTNY THE YOUNGER. 531 

regrets — the victims of Domitian— and for those who participated with 
him in the blessings of his patron's reign. 1 



RETIREMENT AND STUDY COMMENDED. 

[BOOK I., LETTER III. — TO CANINIUS RUFUS.] 

How stands Comurn, 3 that favorite scene of yours and mine? 
What becomes of the pleasant villa; the vernal portico, the 
shady plane-tree walk, the crystal canal so agreeably winding 
along its flowery banks, together with the charming lake 3 below, 
that serves at once the purposes of use and beauty? What 
have you to tell me of the firm yet soft gestatio* the sunny 
bath, the public saloon, the private dining-room, and all the 
elegant apartments for repose both at noon and night ? Do 
these enjoy my friend, and divide his time with pleasing vicis- 
situde ? Or do the affairs of the world, as usual, call you fre- 
quently out from this agreeable retreat? If the scene of your 
enjoyments lies wholly there, you' are happy: if not, you are 
under the common error of mankind. But leave, my friend 
(for certainly it is high time), the sordid pursuits of life to 
others, and devote yourself, in this calm and undisturbed recess, 
entirely to pleasures of the studious kind. Let these employ 
your idle as well as serious hours ; let them be at once your 
business and your amusement, the subjects of your waking and 
even sleeping thoughts : produce something that shall be really 
and forever your own. All your other possessions will pass on 
from one master to another : this alone, when once it is yours, 
will forever be so. As I well know the temper and genius of 
him to whom I am addressing myself, I must exhort you to 
think as well of your abilities as they deserve : do justice to 
those excellent talents you possess, and the world, believe me, 
will certainly do so too. Farewell. 

Melmoth. 

1 Editions : G-. E. Grierig, Leipsic, 1802, two volumes 8vo. ; Gr. H. Sehaefer, 
Leipsic, 1805, two volumes 8vo. ; Lemaire, Paris, 1823. There are two English 
versions of the Epistles, one by Lord Orrery, and the other by William Mel- 
moth ; from the latter of which I have made my selections. 

' 2 The city where Pliny was born : it still subsists, and is now called Como, 
situated upon the lake Larius, or Lago di Como, in the cluchy of Milan. 

3 The lake Larius, upon the banks of which this villa was situated. 

4 A piece of ground set apart for the purpose of exercise, either on horse- 
back, or in their vehicles ; it was generally contiguous to their gardens, and 
laid out in the form of a circus. 



538 PLINY THE YOUNGER. [A. D. 61-110. 



LET READING AND HUNTING GO TOGETHER. 
[BOOK I., LETTER VI. — TO CORNELIUS TACITUS.] 

Certainly you will laugh (and laugh you may) when I tell 
you that your old acquaintance is turned sportsman, and has 
taken three noble boars. What (methinks I hear you say with 
astonishment) ! Pliny! — even he. However, I indulged at the 
same time my beloved inactivity, and whilst I sat at my nets, 
you would have found me, not with my spear, but my pen by 
my side. I mused and wrote, being resolved if I returned with 
my hands empty, at least to come home with my papers fall. 
Believe me, this manner of studying is not to be despised : you 
cannot conceive how greatly exercise contributes to enliven the 
imagination. There is, besides, something in the solemnity of 
the venerable woods with which one is surrounded, together 
with that awful silence 1 which is observed on these occasions, 
that strongly inclines the mind to meditation. For the future 
therefore let me advise you, whenever you hunt, to take along 
with you your pen and paper, as well as your basket and bot- 
tle : for be assured you will find Minerva as fond of traversing 
the hills as Diana. Farewell. 

Mehnoth . 
PLEASURES OF RURAL LIFE. 

[BOOK I., LETTER IX. TO MINUTIUS FUNPANUS.] 

When one considers how the time passes at Rome, one can- 
not but be surprised, that take any single day, and it either 
is, or at least seems to be spent reasonably enough ; and yet 
upon casting up the whole sum the amount will appear quite 
otherwise. Ask any one how he has been employed to day ? 
he will tell you, perhaps, "I have been at the ceremony of 
taking up the manly robe f this friend invited me to a wed- 
ding ; that desired me to attend the hearing of his cause; one 

1 By the circumstance of silence here mentioned, as 'well as by the whole 
air of this letter, it is plain the hunting here recommended was of a very 
different kind from what is practised amongst us. It is probahle the wild 
boars were allured into their nets hy some kind of prey, with which they 
were baited, while the sportsman watched at a distance in silence and con- 
cealment. 

3 The Roman youths at the age of seventeen changed their habit, and took 
up the toga virilis, or manly gown, upon which occasion they were conducted 
by the friends of the family with great ceremony either into the forum or 
capitol, and there invested with this new robe. 



A. D. 61-110.] PLINY THE YOUNGER. 539 

begged me to be witness to his will ; another called me to a 
consultation." These are offices which seem, while one is en- 
gaged in them, extremely necessary ; and yet, when in the quiet 
of some retirement, we look back upon the many hours thus 
employed, we cannot but condemn them as solemn imperti- 
nences. At such a season one is apt to reflect, how much of 
my life has been lost in trifles ! At least it is a reflection which 
frequently comes across me at Laurentum, after I have been 
employing myself in my studies, or even in the necessary care 
of the animal machine — for the body must be repaired and 
supported, if we would preserve the mind in all its vigor. In 
that peaceful retreat, I neither hear nor speak anything of 
which I have occasion to repent. I suffer none to repeat to 
me the whispers of malice ; nor do I censure any man, unless 
myself, when I am dissatisfied with my compositions. " There 
I live undisturbed by rumor, and free from the anxious solici- 
tudes of hope or fear, conversing only with myself and my 
books. True and genuine life ! pleasing and honorable repose ! 
More, perhaps, to be desired than the noblest employments ! 
Thou solemn sea and solitary shore, best and most retired scene 
for contemplation, with how many noble thoughts have you 
inspired me ! Snatch then, my friend, as I have, the first occa- 
sion of leaving the noisy town with all its very empty pursuits, 
and devote your days to study, or even resign them to ease : 
for as my ingenious friend Attilius pleasantly said, "It is better 
to do nothing, than to be doing of nothing." Farewell. 

Melmoth. 

THE CHANGES MADE BY TIME. 

[BOOK IV., LETTER XXIV. — TO VALENS.] 

Being engaged lately in a cause before the Centumviri, it 
occurred to me that when I was a youth I was also concerned 
in one which passed through the same courts. I could not 
forbear, as usual, to pursue the reflection my mind had started, 
and to consider if there were any of those advocates then pre- 
sent, who were joined with me in the former cause ; but I found 
I was the only person remaining who had been counsel in both : 
such changes does the instability of human nature, or the vicis- 
situdes of fortune produce ! Death had removed some ; banish- 
ment others ; age and infirmities had silenced those, while these 
were withdrawn to enjoy the happiness of retirement ; one was 
at the head of an army; and the indulgence of the prince had 
exempted another from the burden of civil employments. What 



540 PLINY THE YOUNGER. [A. D. 61-110. 

turns of fortune have I experienced even in my own person ! 
It was eloquence that first raised me ; it was eloquence that 
occasioned my disgrace ; and it was eloquence that advanced 
me again. The friendships of the wise and good at my first 
appearance in the world, were highly serviceable to me ; the 
same friendships proved afterward extremely prejudicial to my 
interest, and now again they are my ornament and support. 
If you compute the time in which these incidents have hap- 
pened, it is but a few years ; if you number the events, it seems 
an age. A lesson that will teach us to check both our despair 
and presumption, when we observe such a variety of revolutions 
roll round in so swift and narrow a circle. It is my custom to 
communicate to my friend all my thoughts, and to set before 
him the same rules and examples, by which I regulate my own 
conduct : and such was my design in this letter. Farewell. 

Melmoth. 
THE WORLD KNOWS NOT ITS BEST MEN. 

[BOOK VII., LETTER XXV. — TO BUFUS.] 

What numbers of learned men does modesty conceal, or love 
of ease withdraw from the notice of the world! And yet when 
we are going to speak or recite in public, it is the judgment 
only of ostentatious talents which we stand in awe of: whereas 
in truth, those who silently cultivate the sciences have so much 
a higher claim to regard, as they pay a calm veneration to 
whatever is great in works of genius : an observation which I 
give you upon experience. Terentius Junior having passed 
through the military offices suitable to a person of equestrian 
rank, and executed with great integrity the post of receiver- 
general of the revenues in Xarbonensian Gaul, retired to his 
estate, preferring the enjoyment of an uninterrupted tranquil- 
lity, to those honors which his services had merited. He in- 
vited me lately to his house, where, looking upon him only as 
a worthy master of a family, and an industrious farmer, I started 
such topics of conversation in which I imagined he was most 
versed. But he soon turned the discourse, and with a great 
fund of knowledge, entered upon points of literature. With 
what elegance did he express himself in Latin and Greek ! for 
he is so perfectly well skilled in both, that whichever he uses, 
seems to be the language wherein he particularly excels. How 
extensive is his reading! how tenacious his memory! You 
would not imagine him the inhabitant of a country village, but 
of the polite Athens herself. In short, his conversation has 
increased my solicitude concerning my works, and taught me 



A. D. 61-110.3 PLINY THE YOUNGER. 541 

to fear the judgment of these retired country gentlemen, as 
much as those of more known and conspicuous learning. And 
let me persuade you to consider them in the same light : for 
believe me, upon a careful observation, you will often find in 
the literary as well as military world, most formidable abilities 
concealed under a very unpromising appearance. Farewell. 

Melmoth. 



HIS DISPOSITION OP TIME IN THE SUMMER. 
[BOOK IX., LETTER XXXVI. — TO FUSCUS.] 

You desire to know, in what manner I dispose of my time, 
in my summer villa at Tuscum ? I rise just when I find myself 
in the humor, though generally with the sun ; sometimes in- 
deed sooner, but seldom later. When I am up I continue to 
keep the shutters of my chamber-windows closed, as darkness 
and silence wonderfully promote meditation. Thus free and 
abstracted from those outward objects which dissipate atten- 
tion, I am left to my own thoughts ; nor suffer my mind to 
wander with my eyes, but keep my eyes in subjection to my 
mind, which when they are not distracted by a multiplicity of 
external objects, see nothing but what the imagination repre- 
sents to them. If I have any composition upon my hands, this 
is the time I choose to consider it, not only with respect to the 
general plan, but even the style and expression, which I settle 
and correct as if I were actually writing. In this manner I 
compose more or less as the subject is more or less difficult, 
and I find myself able to retain it. Then I call my secretary, 
and, opening the shutters, I dictate to him what I have com- 
posed, after which I dismiss him for a little while, and then call 
him in again. About ten or eleven of the clock (for I do not 
observe one fixed hour), according as the weather proves, I 
either walk upon my terrace, or in the covered portico, and 
there I continue to meditate or dictate what remains upon the 
subject in which I am engaged. From thence I get into my 
chariot, where I employ myself as before, when I was walking 
or in my study; and find this changing of the scene preserves 
and enlivens my attention. At my return home, I repose my- 
self; then I take a walk, and after that, I repeat aloud some 
Greek or Latin oration, not so much for the sake of strength- 
ening my elocution, 1 as my digestion ; though indeed the voice 

1 By the regimen which Pliny here follows, one would imagine, if he had 
not told us who were his physicians, that the celebrated Celsus was in the 

46 



542 PLINY THE YOUNGER. J>. D. 61-110. 

at the same time finds its account in this practice. Then I 
walk again, am anointed, take my exercises, and go into the 
bath. At supper, if I have only my wife, or a few friends with 
me, some author is read to us ; and after supper we are enter- 
tained either with music, or an interlude. When that is finished, 
I take my walk with my family, in the number of which I am 
not without some persons of literature. Thus we pass our 
evenings in various conversation ; and the day, even when it is 
at the longest, steals away imperceptibly. Upon some occa- 
sions, I change the order in certain of the articles above men- 
tioned. For instance, if I have studied longer or walked more 
than usual, after my second sleep and reading an oration or 
two aloud, instead of using my chariot I get on horseback ; by 
which means I take as much exercise and lose less time. The 
visits of my friends from the neighboring villages claim some 
part of the day; and sometimes, by an agreeable interruption, 
they come in very seasonably to relieve me when I am fatigued. 
I now and then amuse myself with sporting; but always take 
my tablets into the field, that though I should not meet with 
game, I may at least bring home something. Part of my time 
too (though not so much as they desire) is allotted to my 
tenants ; and I find their rustic complaints give a zest to my 
studies and engagements of the politer kind. Farewell. 

Melmoth. 



WINTER EMPLOYMENTS. 

[BOOK IX., LETTER XL. — TO THE SAME.] 

You are much pleased, I find, with the account I gave you 
in my former letter, of the manner in which I spend the sum- 
mer season at Tuscum ; and desire to know what alteration I 
make in my method, when I am at Laurentum in the winter ? 
None at all, except abridging myself of my sleep at noon, and 
employing part of the night in study: and if any cause requires 
my attendance at Rome (which in winter very frequently hap- 
pens), instead of having interludes or music after supper, I 
meditate upon what I have dictated, and by often revising it 
in my own mind, fix it in my memory. Thus I have given you 
my scheme of life in summer and winter ; to which you may 
add the intermediate seasons of spring and autumn. As at 

number. That author expressly recommends reading aloud, and afterwards 
walking, as beneficial in disorders of the stomach: Si quis stomacho laborat, 
legere clare debet; post lectionem, ambulare, &c. 



A. D. 61-110.] PLINY THE YOUNGER. 543 

those times I lose nothing of the day, so I study but little in 
the night. Farewell. 

Melmoth. 

PERSECUTIONS OF THE EARLY CHRISTIANS. 

[BOOK X., LETTER 1 XCVII. — TO THE EMPEROR TRAJAN.] 

It is a rule, sir, which I inviolably observe, to refer myself 
to you in all my doubts ; for who is more capable of removing 
my scruples, or informing my ignorance? Having never been 
present at any trials concerning those who profess Christianity, 
I am unacquainted not only with the nature of their crimes, or 
the measure of their punishment, but* how far it is proper to 
enter into an examination concerning them. Whether there- 
fore any difference is usually made with respect to the ages of 
the guilty, or no distinction is to be observed between the young 
and the adult ; whether repentance entitles them to a pardon ; 
or if a man has been once a Christian, it avails nothing to de- 
sist from his error ; whether the very profession of Christianity, 
unattended with any criminal act, or only the crimes themselves 
inherent in the profession are punishable; in all these points I 
am greatly doubtful. In the meanwhile, the method I have 
observed towards those who have been brought before me as 
Christians, is this: I interrogated them whether they were 
Christians ; if they confessed I repeated the question twice 
again, adding threats at the same time; when, if they still per- 
severed, I ordered them to be immediately punished : for I was 
persuaded, whatever the nature of their opinions might be, a 
contumacious and inflexible obstinacy certainly deserved cor- 
rection. There were others also brought before me possessed 
with the same infatuation, but being citizens of Rome, 2 1 directed 
them to be carried thither. But this crime spreading (as is 
usually the case) while it was actually under prosecution, several 
instances of the same nature occurred. An information was 
presented to me without any name subscribed, containing a 
charge against several persons, who upon examination denied 

1 This letter is esteemed as almost the only genuine monument of eccle- 
siastical antiquity relating to the times immediately succeeding the Apostles, 
it being written at most not above forty years after the death of St. Paul. 
It was preserved by the Christians themselves as a clear and unsuspicious 
evidence of the purity of their doctrines ; and is frequently appealed to by 
the early writers of the church, against the calumnies of their adversaries. 

2 It was one of the privileges of a Roman citizen, secured by the Sempro- 
nian law, that he could not be capitally convicted but by the suffrage of the 
people, which seems to have been still so far in force, as to make it necessary 
to send the persons here mentioned to Rome. 



544 PLINY THE YOUNGER. [A. D. 61-110. 

they were Christians, or had ever been so. They repeated after 
me an invocation to the gods, and offered religious rites with 
wine and frankincense before your statue (which for this pur- 
pose I had ordered to be brought together with those of the 
gods) ; and even reviled the name of Christ : whereas there is 
no forcing, it is said, those who are really Christians, into a 
compliance with any of these articles: I thought proper there- 
fore to discharge them. Some among those who were accused 
by a witness in person, at first confessed themselves Christians, 
but immediately after denied it ; while the rest owned indeed 
that they had been of that number formerly, but had now (some 
above three, others more, and a few above twenty years ago) 
forsaken that error. They all worshipped your statue and the 
images of the gods, throwing out imprecations at the same 
time against the name of Christ. They affirmed, the whole of 
their guilt, or their error, was, that they met on a certain stated 
day before it was light, and addressed themselves in a form of 
prayer to Christ, as to some Grod, binding themselves by a 
solemn oath, not for the purposes of any wicked design, but 
never to commit any fraud, theft, or adultery, never to falsify 
their word, nor deny a trust when they should be called upon 
to deliver it up ; after which, it was their custom to separate, 
and then reassemble, to eat in common a harmless meal. 1 From 
this custom, however, they desisted after the publication of my 
edict, by which, according to your orders, I forbade the meet- 
ing of any assemblies. After receiving this account, I judged 
it so much the more necessary to endeavor to extort the real 
truth, by putting two female slaves to .lie torture, who were 
said to administer in their religious functions : 2 but I could 
discover nothing more than an absurd and excessive supersti- 
tion. I thought proper therefore to adjourn all farther pro- 
ceedings in this affair, in order to consult with you. For it 
appears to be a matter highly deserving your consideration ; 
more especially as great numbers must be involved in the 
danger of these prosecutions, this inquiry having already ex- 
tended, aud being still likely to extend, to persons of all ranks 
and ages, and even of both sexes. For this contagious super- 
stition is not confined to the cities only, but has spread its 
infection among the country villages. Nevertheless, it still 

1 This doubtless refers to the celebration of the " Lord's Supper." 
3 These women, it is supposed, exercised the same office as Phcebe. men- 
tioned by St. Paul, whom he styles deaconess of the church of Cenchrea. 
Their business was to attend the poor and sick, and to perform other chari- 
table offices ; as also to assist at the ceremony of female baptism, for the more 
decent performance of that rite. 



A. D. 61-110.] PLINY THE YOUNGER. 545 

seems possible to remedy this evil and restrain its progress. 
The temples, at least, which were once almost deserted, begin 
now to be frequented ; and the sacred solemnities, after a long 
intermission, are again revived; while there is a general de- 
mand for the victims, which for some time past have met with 
but few purchasers. From hence it is easy to imagine, what 
numbers might be reclaimed from this error, if a pardon were 
granted to those who shall repent. 

Melmoth. 



TRAJAN'S REPLY : DIRECTING PLINY HOW TO PROCEED WITH THE 
CHRISTIANS. 

The method you have pursued, my dear Pliny, in the pro- 
ceedings against those Christians which were brought before 
you, is extremely proper; as it is not possible to lay down any 
fixed plan by which to act in all cases of this nature. But I 
would not have you officiously enter into any inquiries concern- 
ing them. If indeed they should be brought before you, and 
the crime is proved, they must be punished ; with this restric- 
tion, however, that where the party denies himself to be a 
Christian, and shall make it evident that he is not, by invoking 
our gods, let him (notwithstanding any former suspicion) be 
pardoned upon his repentance. Informations without the 
accuser's name subscribed, ought not to be received in prose- 
cutions of any sort, as it is introducing a very dangerous 
precedent, and by no means agreeable to the equity of my 
government. 1 

Melmoth. 

1 If we impartially examine this prosecution of the Christians, we shall 
find it to have been grounded on the ancient constitution of the state, and 
not to have proceeded from a cruel or arbitrary temper in Trajan. The 
Roman legislature appears to have been early jealous of any innovation in 
point of public worship ; and we find the magistrates, during the old re- 
public, frequently interposing in cases of that nature. We are not therefore 
to judge of the proceedings in epiestion, by the rules we should apply to 
cases of the same nature in our own times. The established religion of the 
Romans was no other, in the judgment and confession of their best writers, 
than an engine of state, which could not be shaken without the utmost 
danger, or rather, perhaps, without the total subversion of their civil govern- 
ment. This case therefore is to be considered in a civil, not a religious View ; 
as a matter of state, not of speculation ; wherein the lenity and moderation 
both of the Emperor and his minister deserve to be applauded, as they are 
neither of them for pushing the matter as far as they most certainly might, 
had they acted strictly up to the ancient and fundamental laws of their 
country. — Melmoth . 

46* 



546 suetonius. [a. d. 70-130. 



SUETONIUS. 
a. d. 70—130. 

Very little is known of the life of Caius Suetonius Tranquillus, and 
the above dates of his birth and death pretend to nothing more than an 
approximation to the truth, drawn from hints in his works, and from 
other authors. He flourished in the reigns of Trajan and Adrian, and 
was an intimate friend of the younger Pliny. This speaks well for 
his integrity of character, and trustworthiness as an historian. He 
was the author of several works, none of which, however, have come 
down to us, except the Lwes of the Tioelve Caesars, and two short books 
containing Sketches of the Lives of the most Eminent Philologists and 
Rhetoricians. The former work has the merit of candid impartiality 
and a conscientious love of truth : it is written in an easy and simple 
style, and as a great collection of facts of all kinds relating to the 
private as well as public lives of the emperors, is very valuable to 
the historian of this period. The time of Suetonius' death is not 
known. 1 

CHARACTER OF CICERO. 

Such are the literary productions of this extraordinary man, 
whose comprehensive understanding enabled him to conduct 
with superior ability the most abstruse disquisitions into moral 
and metaphysical science. Born in an age posterior to Socrates 
and Plato, he could not anticipate the principles inculcated by 
those divine philosophers, but he is justly entitled to the praise, 
not only of having prosecuted with unerring judgment the steps 
which they trod before him, but of carrying his researches to 
greater extent into the most difficult regions of philosophy. 
This too he had the merit to perform, neither in the station of 
a private citizen, nor in the leisure of academic retirement, but 
in the bustle of public life, amidst the almost constant exertions 
of the bar, the employment of the magistrate, the duties of the 
senator, and the incessant cares of the statesman ; through a 
period likewise checkered with domestic afflictions and fatal 

1 Edition? : P. Burmann, Amsterdam, 1736, two volume? 4to. : Baum- 
garten-Crusius, Leipsic, 1816, three volumes; also edited by C. B. Hase, 
Paris, 182S, two vols. Svo. The best English translation is by A. Thompson, 
London, 1796, "with annotations and a review of the government and lite- 
rature of the different periods.'' 



A. D. 70-130.] SUETONIUS. 547 

commotions in the republic. As a philosopher, his mind ap- 
pears to have been clear, capacious, penetrating, and insatiable 
of knowledge. As a writer, he was endowed with every talent 
that could captivate either the judgment or taste. His re- 
searches were continually employed on subjects of the greatest 
utility to mankind, and those often such as extended beyond 
the narrow bounds of temporal existence. The being of a 
God, the immortality of the soul, a future state of rewards and 
punishments, and the eternal distinction of good and ill; these 
were in general the great objects of his philosophical inquiries, 
and he has placed them in a more convincing point of view, 
than they ever were before exhibited to the pagan world. The 
variety and force of the arguments which he advances, the 
splendor of his diction, and the zeal with which he endeavors 
to excite the love and admiration of virtue ; all conspire to 
place his character, as a philosophical writer, including likewise 
his incomparable eloquence, on the summit of human celebrity. 



THE USURPATION OP AUGUSTUS. 
[ARGUMENTS FOR AND AGAINST A REPUBLICAN FORM OF GOVERNMENT.] 

For the restoration of the republican government, it might 
be contended, that from the expulsion of the kings to the dic- 
tatorship of Julius Ceesar, through a period of upwards of four 
hundred and sixty years, the Roman state, abating a short in- 
termission only, had flourished and increased with a degree of 
prosperity unexampled in the annals of human kind: That the 
republican form of government was not only best adapted to the 
improvement of national grandeur, but to the security of gene- 
ral freedom, the great object of all political association : That 
public virtue, by which alone nations could subsist in vigor, 
was cherished and protected by no mode of administration so 
much as by that which connected, in the strongest bonds of 
union, the private interests of individuals with those of the 
community: That the habits and prejudices of the Roman 
people were unalterably attached to the form of government 
established by so long a prescription, and would never submit, 
for any length of time, to the rule of one person, without 
making every possible effort to recover their liberty: That 
though despotism, under a mild and wise prince, might in some 
respects be regarded as preferable to a constitution which 
was occasionally exposed to the inconvenience of faction and 
popular tumults, yet it was a dangerous experiment to abandon 



548 suetonius. [a. d. T 0-1 30. 

tbe government of the nation to the contingency of such a 
variety of characters as usually occurs in the succession of 
princes; and upon the whole, that the interests of the people 
were more safely intrusted in the hands of annual magistrates 
elected by themselves, than in those of any individual whose 
power was permanent, and subject to no legal control. 

In favor of despotic government it might be urged, that 
though Rome had subsisted long and gloriously under a re- 
publican form of government, yet she had often experienced 
such violent shocks, from popular tumults or the factions of 
the great, as had threatened her with imminent destruction : 
That a republican government was only accommodated to a 
people amongst whom the division of property gave to no class 
of citizens such a degree of pre-eminence as might prove dan- 
gerous to public freedom : That there was required in that 
form of political constitution, a simplicity of life and strictness 
of manners which are never observed to accompany a high 
degree of public prosperity : That in respect of all these con- 
siderations, such a form of government was utterly incompatible 
with the present circumstances of the Romans: That by the 
conquest of so many foreign nations, by the lucrative govern- 
ments of provinces, the spoils of the enemy in war, and the 
rapine too* often practised in time of peace, so great had been 
the aggrandizement of particular families in the preceding age, 
that though the form of the ancient constitution should still 
remain inviolate, the people would no longer live under a free 
republic, but an aristocratical usurpation, which was always 
productive of tyranny : That nothing could preserve the com- 
monwealth from becoming aprey to some daring confederacy, but 
the firm and vigorous administration of one person, invested 
with the whole executive power of the state, unlimited and un- 
controlled : In fine, that as Rome had been nursed to maturity 
by the government of six princes successively, so it was only by 
a similar form of political constitution that she could now be 
saved from aristocratical tyranny on the one hand, or, on the 
other; from absolute anarchy. 

On whichever side of the question the force of argument may 
be thought to preponderate, there is reason to believe that 
Augustus was guided in his resolution more by inclination and 
prejudice than by reason. It is related, however, that hesi- 
tating between the opposite opinions of his two counsellors, he 
had recourse to that of Virgil, who joined with Mecaenas in 
advising him to retain the imperial power, as being the form 
of government most suitable to the circumstances of the times. 



A. D. 10-130.] SUETONIUS. 549 



CARACTACUS. 

In the interior parts of Britain, the natives, under the com- 
mand of Caractacus, maintained an obstinate resistance, and 
little progress was made by the Roman arms, until Ostorius 
Scapula was sent over to prosecute the war. He penetrated 
into the country of the Silures, a warlike tribe, who inhabited 
the banks of the Severn; and having defeated Caractacus in a 
great battle, made him prisoner, and sent him to Rome. The 
fame of the British prince had by this time spread over the 
provinces of Gaul and Italy; and upon his arrival in the Roman 
capital, the people flocked from all quarters to behold him. 
The ceremonial of his entrance was conducted with great 
solemnity. On a plain adjoining the Roman camp, the Prae- 
torian troops were drawn up in martial array : the emperor 
and his court took their station in the front of the lines, and 
behind them was ranged the whole body of the people. The 
procession commenced with the different trophies which had 
been taken from the Britons during the progress of the war. 
Next followed the brothers of the vanquished prince, with his 
wife and daughter, in chains, expressing by their supplicating 
looks and gestures the fears with which they were actuated. 
But not so Caractacus himself. With a manly gait and an 
undaunted countenance, he marched up to the tribunal, where 
the emperor was seated, and addressed him in the following 
terms : — 

"If to my high birth, and distinguished rank, I had added 
the virtues of moderation, Rome had beheld me rather as a 
friend than a captive ; and you would not have rejected an 
alliance with a prince, descended from illustrious ancestors, 
and governing many nations. The reverse of my fortune to 
you is glorious, and to me humiliating. I had arms, and men, 
and horses ; I possessed extraordinary riches ; and can it be 
any wonder that I was unwilling to lose them ? Because Rome 
aspires to universal dominion, must men, therefore, implicitly 
resign themselves to subjection ? I opposed for a long time 
the progress of your arms ; had I acted otherwise, would either 
you have had the glory of conquest, or I of a brave resistance ? 
I am now in your power ; if you are determined to take re- 
venge, my fate will soon be forgotten, and you will derive no 
honor from the transaction. Preserve my life, and I shall 
remain, to the latest ages, a monument of your clemency." 



550 suetonius. [a. d. T 0-1 30. 

Immediately upon this speech, Claudius granted him his 
liberty, as he did likewise to the other royal captives. They 
all returned their thanks, in a manner the most grateful to the 
emperor ; and, as soon as their chains were taken, off, walking 
towards Agrippina, who sat upon a bench at a little distance, 
they repeated to her the same fervent declarations of gratitude 
and esteem. 

History has preserved no account of Caractacus after this 
period ; but it is probable that he returned, in a short time, to 
his own country, where his former valor, and the magnanimity 
which he had displayed at Rome, would continue to render 
him illustrious through life, even amidst the irretrievable ruin 
of his fortunes. 



JUVENAL. 

The remaining compositions of this author are sixteen sa- 
tires, all written against the dissipation and enormous vices 
which prevailed at Rome in his time. The various objects of 
animadversion are painted in the strongest colors, and placed 
in the most conspicuous points of view. Giving loose reins to 
just and moral indignation, Juvenal is everywhere animated, 
vehement, petulant, and incessantly acrimonious. Disdaining 
the more lenient modes of correction, or despairing of their 
success, he neither adopts the raillery of Horace nor the deri- 
sion of Persius, but prosecutes vice and folly with all the 
severity of sentiment, passion, and expression. He sometimes 
exhibits a mixture of humor with his invectives ; but it is a 
humor which partakes more of virulent rage than of pleasantry ; 
broad, hostile, unchastised, and equalling, in respect of indeli- 
cacy, the profligate manners which it assails. The Satires of 
Juvenal abound in philosophical apophthegms ; and, where 
they are not sullied by obscene description, are supported with 
a uniform air of virtuous elevation. Amidst all the intemper- 
ance of sarcasm, his numbers are harmonious. Had his zeal 
permitted him to direct the current of his impetuous genius 
into the channel of ridicule, and endeavor to put to shame the 
vices and follies of those licentious times, as much as he per- 
haps exasperated conviction, rather than excited contrition, he 
would have carried satire to the highest possible pitch, both of 
literary excellence and moral utility. With every abatement 
of attainable perfection, we hesitate not to place him at the 
head of this arduous department of poetry. 



A. D. 80.] STATIUiS. 551 



STATIUS. * 

FLOUEISHED ABOUT A. D. 80. 

Publius Papinius Statius, the poet, flourished in the reign of Domi- 
tian (A. D. 81 — 96), but we know very little of his personal history. 
He was horn at Naples, of a good family, and there received his edu- 
cation under his father, who opened a school of rhetoric and oratory 
in that city, hut he afterwards removed to Rome, where he continued 
his profession with much success. The son speedily rose to fame, and 
became quite renowned for the brilliancy of his extemporaneous effu- 
sions. He married Claudia, the daughter of a musician, and a wo- 
man of considerable attainments. To her he inscribed many of his 
verses, and always mentions her Avith tenderness and honor. In the 
latter part of his life he retired with his wife to Naples, the place of 
his nativity, and there he probably died about A. D. 96. 

The extant works of Statius are : 1, his Sylvx, a collection of thirty- 
two fugitive pieces, in five books, in various styles and on different 
subjects ; 2, his Achilleid, an heroic poem, designed to give an account 
of the exploits of Achilles, but which never reached the end of the 
second book ; and 3, his Thebaid, an heroic poem in twelve books, 
which embodies most of the ancient legends with regard to the expe- 
dition of the " Seven against Thebes." He is said to have been twelve 
years in composing this poem, and on it his fame chiefly rests. He 
professedly took Virgil for his guide, though he very modestly depre- 
cates any presumptuous comparison with his great model. His work 
has been unduly praised by some, and undervalued by others. It is 
not destitute of energy or pathos ; while its sentiments are dignified, 
and many of his descriptions very fine. But he is too florid in his 
style ; his language is too pompous for the idea intended to be con- 
veyed, and his images are exaggerated. "Those passages which have 
been most frequently quoted, and most generally admired, display a 
great command of graceful and appropriate language, a liveliness of 
imagination, which occasionally oversteps the limits of correct taste, 
brilliant imagery, pictures designed with artistic skill, and glowing 
with the richest colors, a skilful development of character, and a com- 
plete knowledge of the mechanism of verse ; but they are not vivified 
and lighted up by a single spark of true inspiration. The rules of art 
are observed with undeviating accuracy, and the most intricate combi- 
nations are formed without the introduction of a disturbing element ; 



552 statius. [a. d. 80. 

but there is a total absence of that simple energy which is the surest 
mark of true genius." 1 



MERCURl'S MISSION TO THE KING OF THEBES. 

And now the winged Hermes from on high 
Shot in deep silence from the dusky sky ; 
Then hover'd o'er the Theban tyrant's head, 
As, stretch'd at ease, he press'd his gorgeous bed ; 
Where labor'd tapestry, from side to side, 
Glow'd with rich figures and Assyrian pride. 
0, the precarious terms of human state ! 
How blind is man ! how thoughtless of his fate ! 
See, through his limbs the dews of slumber creep, 
Sunk as he lies in luxury and sleep. 
The reverend shade, commission'd from above, 
Hastes to fulfil the high behests of Jove : 
Like blind Tiresias to the bed he came, 
In form, in habit, and in voice the same. 
Pale, as before, the phantom still appear'd, 
Down his wan bosom flow'd a length of beard ; 
His head an imitated fillet wore, 
His hand a wreath of peaceful olive bore ; 
With this he touch'd the sleeping monarch's breast, 
And, in his own, the voice of fate express'd. 

" Then canst thou sleep, to thoughtless rest resign'd, 
And drive thy brother's image from thy mind ? 
Yon gathering storm demands thy timely care ; 
See, how it rolls this way the tide of war ! 
When o'er the seas the sweeping whirlwinds fly, 
And roar from every quarter of the sky, 
The pilot, in despair the ship to save, 
Gives up the helm, a sport to every wave ; 
Such is thy error, and thy fate the same 
(For, know, I speak the common voice of fame) ; 
Proud in his new alliances, from far 
Against thy realm he meditates the war ; 
Big with ambitious hopes to reign alone, 
And swell unrival'd on the Theban throne. 
New signs and fatal prodigies inspire 
His mad ambition, with his boasted sire ; 
And Argos' ample realms in dower bestow'd, 
And Tydeus reeking from his brother's blood, 
League and conspire to raise him to the throne, 
And make his tedious banishment thy own. 
For this, with pity touch'd, Almighty Jove, 
The sire of gods, dispatch'd me from above. 
Be still a monarch ; let him swell in vain 
With a gay prospect of a fancied reign ; 

1 Prof. Ramsay, of Glasgow. 



D. 80.] STATIUS. 553 

Still let him hope by fraud, or by the sword, 
To humble Thebes beneath a foreign lord." 

Thus the majestic ghost; but, ere he fled, 
He pluck'd the wreaths and fillets from his head ; 
For now the sickening stars were chas'd away, 
And heaven's immortal coursers breath'd the day. 
Awful to sight confess 'd the grandsire stood, ] 

Bared his wide wound, and all his bosom show'd, >- 
Then dash'd the sleeping monarch with his blood. ) 

With a distracted air, and sudden spring, 
Starts from his broken sleep the trembling Idng ; 
Shakes off, amaz'ck, th' imaginary gore, 
While fancy paints the scene he saw before : 
Deep in his soul his grandsire's image wrought, 
And all his brother rose in every thought. 

So while the toils are spread, and from behind 
The hunter's shouts come thickening in the wind ; 
The tiger starts from sleep the war to wage, 
Collects his powers, and rouses all his rage ; 
Sternly he grinds his fangs, he weighs his might, 
And whets his dreadful talons for the fight ; 
Then to his young he bears his foe away, 
His foe, at once the chaser and the prey ; 
Thus on his brother he, in every thought, 
Waged future wars, and battles yet unfought. 

Thebaid, Book II. , Pitt. 



A TEMPESTUOUS NIGHT. 

? Twas now the time when Phoebus yields to night, 
And rising Cynthia sheds her silver light ; 
Wide o'er the world, in solemn pomp, she drew 
Her airy chariot, hung with pearly dew. 
All birds and beasts lie hush'd ; Sleep steals away 
The wild desires of men, and toils of day, 
And brings, descending through the silent air, 
A sweet forgetfulness of human care. 
Yet no red clouds, with golden borders gay, 
Promise the skies the bright return of day ; 
No faint reflections of the distant light 
Streak with long gleams the scattering shades of nigkt: 
From the damp earth impervious vapors rise, 
Increase the darkness, and involve the skies. 
At once the rushing winds, with roaring sound, 
Burst from the iEolian caves, and rend the ground ; 
With equal rage their airy quarrel try, 
And win by turns the kingdom of the sky. 
But with a thicker night black Auster shrouds 
The heavens, and drives on heaps the rolling clouds, 
From whose dark womb a rattling tempest pours, 
Which the cold North congeals to haily showers. 
47 



554 statius. [a. d. 80. 

From pole to pole tlie thunder roars aloud, 

And broken lightnings flash from every cloud ; 

Now smokes with showers the misty mountain ground, 

And floated fields lie undistinguish'd round. 

Th' Inachian streams with headlong fury run, 

And Erisinus runs a deluge on ; 

The foaming Lerna swells above its bounds, 

And spreads its ancient poisons o'er the grounds. 

Where late was dust, now rapid torrents play, 

Rush through the mounds, and bear the dams away ; 

Old limbs of trees, from crackling forests torn, 

Are whirl'd in air, and on the winds are borne ; 

The storm the dark Lycsean groves display 'd, 

And first to light expos'd the sacred shade. 

Th' intrepid Theban hears the bursting sky, 

Sees yawning rocks in massy fragments fly, 

And views, astonish'd, from the hills afar, 

The floods descending, and the watery war, 

That, driven by storms, and pouring o'er the plain, 

Swept herds, and hinds, and houses to the main. 

Through the brown horrors of the night he fled, 

Nor knows, amaz'd, what doubtful path to tread. ; 

His brother's image to his mind appears, 

Inflames his heart with rage, and wings his feet with fears. 

So fares a sailor on the stormy main, 
When clouds conceal Bootes' golden wain ; 
When not a star its friendly lustre keeps, 
Nor trembling Cynthia glimmers on the deeps ; 
He dreads the rocks, and shoals, and seas, and skies, 
While thunder roars, and lightning round him flies. 

Tkebaid, Booh L, Pope. 

TO SLEEP. 

How have I wronged thee, Sleep, thou gentlest power 

Of heaven ! that I alone, at night's dread hour. 

Still from thy soft embraces am repress'd, 

Nor drink oblivion on thy balmy breast ? 

Now every field and every flock is thine, 

And seeming slumbers bend the mountain pine ; 

Hush'd is the tempest's howl, the torrent's roar, 

And the smooth wave lies pillow'd on the shore. 

Seven times the moon returns ; yet pale and weak, 

Distemper sits upon my faded cheek ; 

The emerging stars, from iEtna's mount that rise, 

And Venus' fires have reillumed the skies ; 

Still, past my plaints, Aurora's chariot flew, 

Her shaken lash dropp'd cold the pitying dew. 

Can I endure ? Not if to me were given 

The eyes of Argus, sentinel of heaven ; 

Those thousand eyes, that watch alternate kept, 

Nor all o'er all his body waked or slept. 



A. D. 80.] statius. • 555 

# 
All me! yet now, beneath night's lengthening shade, 
Some youth's twined arms enfold the twining maid ; 
Willing he wakes, while midnight hours roll on, 
And scorns thee, Sleep, and waves thee to be gone! 
Come, then, from them; oh leave their bed for mine ! 
I bid thee not with all thy plumes incline 
On my bow'd lids ; this kindest boon beseems 
The hippy crowd, that share thy softest dreams ; 
Let thy wand's tip but touch my closing eye, 
Or, lightly hovering, skim, and pass me by. 

Hodgson. 



TO HIS WIPE CLAUDIA, 

ON HIS INTENDED RETIREMENT TO NAPLES. 

Say, why those gentle looks should changed appear ? 

Why hangs the cloud upon that forehead clear? 

Is it, that thoughts of Naples move my breast, 

And native fields invite my age to rest ? 

But, wherefore sad ? No wanton lightness thine ; 

Not to the cirque thy fond regrets incline, 

Beat by the rapid race ; nor shouts, that roll 

From the throng'd theatre, pervade thy soul. 

But the cool shade of life is dear to thee ; 

Joys undegrading ; modest probity. 

Whither could ocean's waves my bark convey, 

Nor thou be found companion of my way ? 

Yes — did I seek to fix my mansion drear 

Where polar ice congeals th' inclement year : 

Where the seas darken round fair Thule's isle, 

Or, unapproach'd, recedes the head of Nile ; 

Thy voice would cheer me on. May that kind Power, 

Who join'd our hands when in thy beauty's flower, 

Still, when the blooming years of life decline, 

Prolong the blessing, and preserve thee mine ! 

To thee, whose charms gave first th' enamoring wound, 

And my wild youth in marriage fetters bound ; 

To thee submissive, I received the rein, 

Nor sigh for change, but hug the pleasing chain. 

Thrice, when the Alban laurel, wreathing, spread 

Its glossy verdure round my shining head, 

And Caesar graced me with his sacred gold, 

I felt thy joyful arms my neck enfold ; 

Thy panting kisses to my garland clung : 

And, when in vain my failing lyre I strung, 

Vanquish'd with me, thy sorrows would reprove 

Th' ungrateful frowns of Capitolian Jove. 

And thou hast listen'd, with entranced desire, 

The first rude sounds that would my lips inspire ; 



556 QXJINTUS CURTIUS. [A. D. 80. 

Thy watchful ear would snatch, with keen delight, 
My verse, low murmur'd through the live-long night : 
To only thee my lengthen'd toils were known, 
And with thy years has my Thebaid grown. 

Elton. 



QUINTUS CURTIUS. 

FLOURISHED ABOUT A. D. 80. 

Very little is known of the life of Quintus Curtius Rufus, and dif- 
ferent critics have placed him in different eras. It is most probable , 
however, that he flourished towards the close of the first century. He 
wrote a History of the "Achievements of Alexander the Great," in ten 
books. It is written in an agreeable and entertaining manner, but the 
style is too elaborate and too much ornamented, and the author shows 
too great partiality for his hero, and too little knowledge of geography, 
to be implicitly trusted as an historical authority. 1 



CORRESPONDENCE BETWEEN DARIUS AND ALEXANDER. 

Here letters were brought to Alexander from Darius, at 
which he was very much incensed, they being written in a very 
haughty style. But what vexed him most was, that Darius 
therein wrote himself king, without giving Alexander that title, 
and required, rather than desired, that he would restore to him 
his mother, wife, and children, promising for their ransom as 
much money as all Macedonia was worth ; and, as for the em- 
pire, he would try for it again, if he pleased, in a fresh action. 
At the same time, he advised him, if he was still capable of 
wholesome advice, to be contented with his own dominions, 
and to retire from that empire he had no right to ; and, from 
being an enemy, to become a friend and ally, he being ready 
both to give and receive any engagements on that account. To 
this letter, Alexander made answer much after this manner: 
"Alexander, king, to Darius — That prince whose name you 
have taken, having committed great hostilities on those Greeks 

1 Editions: Schmieder, G-ottingen, 1803; Koken, Leipsic, 1818; Zumpt, 
Berlin, ]826; J. Miitzell, Berlin, 1S43. Translated by John Digbv. Lon- 
don, 1720. 



A. D. 80.] QUINTUS CURTIUS. 557 

who inhabit the coast of the Hellespont, and also on the Ionian 
colonies, who are also Greeks, put to sea with a powerful fleet 
and army, and invaded Macedonia and Greece. After him, 
Xerxes, who was a prince of the same family, attacked us with 
an infinite number of barbarians ; and, notwithstanding he was 
beaten at sea, yet he left Mardonius in Greece, to pillage the 
cities in his absence, and burn the country. Besides all which, 
who does not know that my father Philip was inhumanly mur- 
dered by those you had basely corrupted with your money? 
You make no scruple to enter upon unjust wars, and although 
you do not want arms, you unworthily set a price upon the 
heads of your enemies, yourself having given a late instance of 
that, in offering a thousand talents to him that would murder 
me, though you had so mighty an army at command. It is 
plain, therefore, that I am not the aggressor, but repel force 
by force ; and the gods, who always side with the just cause, 
have already made me master of great part of Asia, and given 
me a signal victory over you yourself. However, though you 
have no reason to expect any favor at my hands (since you have 
not so much as observed the laws of war towards me), yet, if 
you come to me in a suppliant manner, I promise you, you 
shall receive your mother, wife, and children without any ran- 
som at all. I know how to conquer, and how to use the con- 
quered. If yon are afraid to venture your person with me, I 
am ready to give you sureties for your doing it with safety. 
But I would have you remember for the future, when you write 
to me, that you do not only write to a king, but also to your 
own king." 

SPEECH OF THE SCYTHIAN AMBASSADORS TO ALEXANDER. 

The Scythians are not a dull, heavy people, like the rest of 
the barbarians; nay, some of them are said to attain to as 
much knowledge as is consistent with any nation that is con- 
stantly in arms. It is said they addressed themselves to the 
king in the following terms; which, though perhaps different 
from our manners — who live in a politer age, and have our 
parts better improved — yet, such as it is, we shall faithfully 
relate, hoping that, if their speech be despised, our integrity will 
not be suspected. The eldest of them, therefore, said : " If 
the gods had given you a body suitable to the insatiable greedi- 
ness of your mind, the world would not be able to contain 
you ; you would stretch one arm out to the farthest extremities 
of the east, and the other to the remotest bounds of the west; 

47* 



558 QUINTUS curtius. [a. d. 80. 

and, not content therewith, would be for examining where the 
glorious body of the sun hid itself. But, even as you are, 
your ambition attempts what you are not capable of. You 
pass out of Europe into Asia, and from Asia you return again 
to Europe ; and, when you have overcome all mankind, rather 
than be quiet, you'll quarrel with the woods and the mountains, 
the rivers and wild beasts. Can you be ignorant that large 
trees are a long time in growing, though an hour be sufficient 
to cut them down ? He is a fool that coveteth their fruit, with- 
out duly considering their height. Take heed that, while you 
strive to climb up to the top, you do not fall headlong with 
those branches you have grasped. A lion has sometimes been 
the prey of the smallest birds ; and iron itself is consumed by 
rust. In fine, there is nothing so firm and strong, but is in 
danger of perishing by what is weaker. What have you to do 
with us ? We never so much as set foot in your country. 
Shall not we, who pass our lives in the woods, be allowed to 
be ignorant who you are, and whence you come? Know that 
as we are not greedy of empire, so neither can we submit to be 
slaves. Now, that you may be sensible what sort of people 
the Scythians are, Heaven has presented us with a yoke of 
oxen, a plough, an arrow, and a bowl. These things we either 
communicate with our friends, or make use of them to defend 
ourselves against our enemies. We impart to our friends the 
corn which is produced by the labor of the oxen, and with them 
also we sacrifice to the gods out of the bowl. Our arrows 
serve us against our enemies at a distance, and we use our 
spears in a closer engagement. By these means, we overcame 
the king of Syria, and since the kings of Persia and of the 
Medes, and opened ourselves a way even into Egypt. And 
whereas you are pleased to give out, that you come to punish 
thieves and robbers, it is plain that you have played the part 
of a robber in all the nations you have yet invaded. You seized 
Lydia, made yourself master of Syria, and are in present pos- 
session also of Persia ; the Bactrians are in your power, and 
you have penetrated into India; and, after all this, you cannot 
be satisfied, unless you extend your ravenous hands to our 
harmless flocks. What occasion have you for riches, since 
they only serve to increase your appetite ? You are the first 
who by satiety sharpen your hunger; as if all your acquisitions 
only served to make you thirst after what you have not. Do 
not you reflect how long the Bactrians have employed you ? 
and that while they kept you in play the Sogdians rebelled ? 
So that your very victories, seem to afford you fresh matter of 



A. D. 80.] QUINTUS CURTIUS. 559 

war. Now, admitting that you are greater and stronger than 
any, yet you ought to consider that nobody can endure long a 
foreign government. Do but pass the Tanais, and you may 
indeed learn the extent of our country, but can never hope to 
overtake the Scythians; our poverty will still be too nimble for 
your army that is laden with the spoils of so many nations. 
Again, when you think us the farthest from you, you shall find 
us within your camp. We are equally swift, either to fly or 
pursue. I am informed that our deserts and wastes are become 
proverbs of scorn among the Greeks. But, for our parts, we 
make choice of wilds, and those places that are void of human 
culture, rather than of cities and fruitful soils. Hold, there- 
fore, your fortune as close as you can ; for she is slippery, and 
will not be held against her will. Wholesome advice is better 
discovered by the consequences than the present. Put a curb, 
therefore, to your prosperity, and you will govern it the better. 
We have a saying amongst us, that Fortune is without feet, 
and has only hands and wings, and that when she reaches out 
her hands she will not suffer her wings to be touched. To be 
short, if you are a god, you ought to be beneficent to mortals, 
and not deprive them of what they have ; and if you are a man, 
always remember yourself to be what you are. It is folly to 
be mindful of those things which make you forget yourself. 
You may make good use of the friendship of those you do not 
exasperate by war; for the firmest union is amongst equals; 
and those seem to be equals who have not yet tried their 
strength. Do not imagine those you conquer can be your 
friends. There is no friendship between the sovereign and 
the slave, for even in time of peace the decrees of war do still 
obtain. The Scythians, in their alliances, do not make use of 
oaths to ratify the same ; but their integrity answers all the 
ends of oaths. It is a precaution of the Greeks, indeed, to 
confirm their transactions with the invocation of the gods; but 
as for ourselves, we make it part of our religion faithfully to 
observe our promises. They who have no reverence for men, 
will not scruple to deceive the gods themselves. Besides, you 
have no occasion for friends of whose benevolence you doubt 
now. In us you will have incorruptible guardians both of Asia 
and Europe. There is only the Tanais between us and Bac- 
triana; and, beyond the Tanais we extend ourselves as far as 
Thrace, and Thrace is said to border upon Macedonia. Thus, 
you see, we are your neighbors in both your empires. Con- 
sider, therefore, whether you will have us for your friends or 
your enemies." 



5G0 MARTIAL. [a. d. 43-104. 



MARTIAL. 
a. d. 43—104. 

He unto whom thou art so partial, 

O reader, is the well-known Martial, 

The epigrammatist : while living, 

Give him the fame tliou wouldst be giving, 

So shall he hear, and feel, and know it: 

Post-obits rarely reach a poet. 

Byron. 

Marcus Valerius Martialis, the epigrammatist, was born at Bilbilis, 
in the northeastern part of Spain, in A. D. 43. He came to Rome at 
the age of twenty-three, in the thirteenth year of the reign of Nero, to 
complete his education for the bar. Here his peculiar talent at satiric 
epigrams procured him a high reputation in the reigns of Titus and 
Domitian, the latter emperor rewarding his panegyrics by creating 
him a Roman knight, and raising him to the tribunate. After residing 
in the metropolis for more than thirty years, he returned to his native 
place, and was married to a lady by the name of Marcella. The bride 
was rich, and the bridegroom grateful. He tells her — 
" Thou art, alone, another Rome to me ;" 

and in another epigram he tells of the stately house and beautiful 
gardens which she brought him : — 

"This little kingdom my ilarcella gave." 

He lived here in great happiness for a few years, and died about 
A. D. 104. 

The extant works of Martial consist of an assemblage of short poems, 
all included under the general appellation of Epigrammata, upwards of 
1500 in number, divided into fourteen books. The word "epigram" 
originally denoted, as its etymology implies, an inscription, but in 
process of time it was applied to any brief metrical effusion, whatever 
the subject might be ; but the example of Martial has associated the 
idea of a sting or point with the epigram ; and since his time the 
term has been in a great measure restricted to a sense denoting a 
short poem, in which all the thoughts and expressions converge to one 
sharp point, which forms the termination of the piece. 

" It is impossible," says Professor Ramsay, of Glasgow University, 
" not to be amazed by the singular fertility of imagination, the pro- 
digious flow of wit, and the delicate felicity of language everywhere 
developed in this extraordinary collection ; and from no source do we 
derive more copious information on the national customs and social 



A. D. 43-104.] MARTIAL. 561 

habits of the Romans during the first century of the empire. But, 
however much we may admire the genius of the author, we feel no 
respect for the character of the man. The inconceivable servility of 
adulation with which he loads Domitian, proves that he was a courtier 
of the lowest class ; and his name is crushed by a load of cold-blooded 
filth, spread ostentatiously over the whole surface of his writings, too 
clearly denoting habitual impurity of thought, combined with habitual 
impurity of expression." Still, we can select a few from his numerous 
pieces that may be read with pleasure and profit. 1 



I DO NOT LOVE THEE. 

I do not love thee, Sabidius, nor can I say why ; I can only 
say this, I do not love thee. 

I love thee not ; but why, I can't display ; 
I love thee not, is all that I can say. 2 



THE FALSE AND TRUE MOURNER. 

Grellia ne'er mourns her father's loss, 

When no one's by to see ; 
But yet her soon commanded tears 
Flow fast in company. 
To weep for praise is but a feigned moan ; 
He grieves most truly, that does grieve alone. 

Fletcher. 



THE "PRETTY" ATTALUS. 

Yes, you're a pretty preacher, sir, we know it, 
Write pretty novels, are a pretty poet ; 
A pretty critic, and tell fortunes too ; 
Then, who writes farce or epigrams like you ? 

1 Editions. The most useful edition of Martial — and the same may be 
said of most of the Latin authors — is that published by Lemaire, in his Latin 
Classics, Paris, 8vo. Translations of many of his epigrams into English have 
been made by Hay, Elphinstone, Cowley, Hodgson, and others. For sprightly 
and witty imitations of this poet, read James Smith's "Martial in London," 
specimens of which may be found in the author's "English Literature of the 
Nineteenth Century." 

2 The following lines, in imitation of this epigram, were made by some 
Oxford wit, on Dr. John Fell, Bishop of Oxford, who died in 1686 : — 

I do not love thee, Doctor Fell ; 
The reason why, I cannot tell. 
But this I'm sure I know full well, 
1 do not love thee, Doctor Fell. 



562 MARTIAL. [a. d. 43-104. 

At every ball, how prettily you nick it ! 
You fiddle, sing, play prettily at cricket. 
Yet, after all, in nothing you excel, 
Do all things prettily, but nothing well. 
What shall I call you ? Say the best I can,. 
You are, my friend, a very busy man. 

Rev. R. Graves. 

ANOTHER VERSION. 

Fine lectures Attalus rehearses, 

Pleads finely, writes fine tales and verses ; 

Fine epigrams, fine farces vie 

With grammar and astrology. 

He finely sings, and dances finely; 

Plays tennis ; fiddles most divinely : 

All finely done, and nothing well. 

Then, if a man the truth may tell, 

This all-accomplish'd Punchinello 

Is a most busy, idle fellow. 

Ebon. 
\ 

TO CHLOE. 

I could resign that eye of blue, 

Howe'er its splendor used to thrill me ; 

And ev'n that cheek of roseate hue — 
To lose it, Chloe, scarce would kill me. 

That snowy neck I ne'er should miss, 

However much I've raved about it ; 
And sweetly as that lip can kiss, 

I think I could exist without it. 

In short, so well I've learn'd to fast, 

That sooth, my love, I know not whether 

I might not bring myself at last 
— To do without you altogether. 



Moor 



THE TRULY GREAT. 



Milo, forbear to call him blest 

That only boasts a large estate, 
Should all the treasures of the East 

Meet, and conspire to make him great. 
Let a broad stream with golden sands 

Through all his meadows roll, 
He's but a wretch, with all his lands, 

That wears a narrow soul. 

Dr. Walts. 



A. D. 43-104.] MARTIAL. 563 



THE VALUE OF LITERARY FAME. 

Yes, I am poor, Callistratus, I own; "I 

And so was ever ; yet not quite unknown : l 

Graced with a knight's degree ; nor this alone, J 

But through the world my verse is frequent sung, 

And "That is he!" sounds buzz'd from every tongue ; 

And what to few, when dust, the fates assign, 

In bloom and freshness of my days is mine. 

Thy ceilings on a hundred columns rest ; 

Wealth, as of upstart freemen, bursts thy chest ; 

Nile flows in fatness o'er thy ample fields ; 

Cisalpine Gaul thy silky fleeces yields. 

Lo, such thou art, and such am I ! Like me, ") 

Callistratus, thou canst not hope to be ; 

A hundred of the crowd resembles thee. J 

El 'to u. 



WHAT IS WELL GIVEN IS NOT LOST. 

Thieves may break locks, and with your cash retire ; 
Your ancient seat may be consumed by fire ; 
Debtors refuse to pay you what they owe, 
Or your ungrateful field the seed you sow ; 
You may be plunder'd by a woman vile ; 
Or all your ships may sink at sea the while. 
Who gives to friends, so much from fate secures ; 
That is the only wealth forever yours. 



Kay. 



ANOTHER VERSION. 



Your slave will with your gold abscond, 

The fire your home lay low ; 
Your debtor will disown his bond, 

Your farm no crops bestow. 
Your steward a mistress frail shall cheat ; 
Your freighted ship the storms will beat. 
That only from mischance you'll save, 

Which to your friends is given ; 
The only wealth you'll always have 

Is that you've lent to heaven. 

English Journal of Education, Jan. 1856. 



TO A_ DETRACTOR. 

Snarl on ; you never shall your purpose gain ; 
What long you seek, you still shall seek in vain, 
Who aim at any, rather than no fame : 
I will not, to abuse you, use your name. 



564 MARTIAL. [a. d. 43-104. 

It never in my writings shall be seen, 
Or the world know that such a wretch hath been. 
Try to make others angry when you bellow ; 
I scorn to meddle with a dirty fellow. 



Hay. 



TO-MORROW. 



To-morrow you will live, you always cry : 

In what fair country does this morrow lie, 

That 'tis so mighty long ere it arrive ? 

Beyond the Indies does this morrow live ? 

'Tis so far-fetch'd, this morrow, that I fear 

'Twill be both very old and very dear. 

" To-morrow I will live," the fool does say ; 

To-day itself 's too late — the wise lived yesterday. 1 

Cowley. 

TO A BAD EPIGRAMMATIST. 

In all the epigrams you write we trace 
The sweetness and the candor of your face. 
Think you, a reader will for verses call, 
Without one grain of salt, or drop of gall ? 
'Tis vinegar gives relish to our food: 
A face that cannot smile is never good. 
Smooth tales, like sweetmeats, are for children fit : 
High-season'd, like my dishes, be my wit. 



Hay. 



THE TEDIOUS BARBER. 

While that the barber went to trim 
And shave Lupercus' chops and chin, 
He was so tedious on the face, 
Another beard grew in the place. 



Fletcher 



1 The following fine remarks upon "To-morrow," are from Dr. Johnson's 
tragedy of "Irene :" — 

To-morrow's action ! Can that hoary wisdom, 
Borne down with years, still dote upon to-morrow! 
That fatal mistress of the young, the lazy, 
The coward, and the fool, condemn'd to lose 
A useless life in waiting for to-morrow ; 
To gaze with longing eyes upon to-morrow ; 
Till interposing death destroys the prospect. 
Strange ! that this general fraud from day to day 
Should fill the world with wretches undetected. 
The soldier, lahoring through a winter's march, 
Still sees to-morrow"drest in robes of triumph ; 
Still to the lover's long-expecting arms, 
To-morrow brings the visionary bride. 
But thou, too old to bear another cheat, 
Learn that the present hour alone is man's. 



A. D. 43-104.] MARTIAL. 565 



TO A BAD COUPLE. 

When as you are so like in life, 
A wicked husband, wicked wife, 
I wonder you should live at strife. 

Old MS. m/i Cent. 



Both man and wife as bad as bad can be, 
I wonder they no better should agree. 



Hay. 



Who says that Giles and Joan at discord be ? 

Th' observing neighbors no such mood can see. 

Indeed, poor Giles repents he married ever ; 

But that his Joan doth too. And Giles would never 

By his free will be in Joan's company ; 

No more would Joan he should. Giles riseth early, 

And, having got him out of doors, is glad ; 

The like is Joan. But turning home is sad ; 

And so is Joan. Ofttimes when Giles doth find 

Harsh sights at home, Giles wisheth he were blind ; 

All this doth Joan. Or that his long-yearn'd life 

Were quite out-spun ; the like wish hath his wife. 

In all affections, she concurreth still. 

If now, with man and wife, to will and mil 

The self-same things, a note of concord be, 

I know no couple better can agree. 



Ben Jonso) 



TO QUINT1US OVIDIUS. 



Believing hear, what you deserve to hear : 

Your birthday, as my own, to me is dear. 

Blest and distinguished days ! which we should prize 

The first, the kindest bounty of the skies. 

But yours gives most ; for mine did only lend 

Me to the world ; yours gave to me a friend. 



TO JULIUS MARTIALIS. 

What makes the happiest life below, 
A few plain rules, my friend, will show. 

A good estate, not earn'd with toil, 
But left by will, or giv'n by fate ; 
A land of no ungrateful soil, 

A constant fire within your grate : 
48 



Hay. 



566 MARTIAL. [a. d. 43-104. 

No law ; few cares ; a quiet mind ; 

Strength unimpair'd, a healthful frame ; 
Wisdom with innocence combm'd ; 

Friends equal both in years and fame ; 

Your living easy, and your board 
With food, but not with luxury stored ; 
A bed, though chaste, not solitary ; 

Sound sleep, to shorten night's dull reign ; 
Wish nothing that is yours to vary ; 

Think all enjoyments that remain ; 
And for the inevitable hour, 
Nor hope it nigh, nor dread its power. 



Merivale. 



ANOTHER VERSION. 



Martial, the things that do attain 

Tbe happy life, be these, I find : 
The riches left, not got with pain ; 

The fruitful ground, the quiet mind : 

The equal friend, no grudge, no strife ; 

No charge of rule, nor governance ; 
Without disease, the healthful life ; 

The household of continuance : 

The mean diet, no delicate fare ; 

True wisdom join'd with simpleness ; 
The night discharged of all care, 

Where wine the wit may not oppress : 

The faithful wife, without debate : 

Such sleeps as may beguile the night ; 

Contented with thine own estate ; 
Ne wish for Death, ne fear his might. 

Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey. 



EPITAPH ON EROTION. 

Underneath this greedy stone, 

Lies little sweet Erotion ; 

Whom the Fates, with hearts as cold, 

Nipp'd away at six years old. 

Thou, whoever thou mayst be, 

That hast this small field after me, 

Let the yearly rites be paid 

To her little slender shade ; 

So shall no disease or jar 

Hurt thy house, or chill thy Lar ; 

But this tomb be here alone 

The only melancholy stone. 

Leigh Hu7it. 



A. D. 100 ] FLORUS. 561 



THE CITY AND COUNTRY. 

Me, wlio have lived so long among the great, 
You wonder to hear talk of a retreat ; 
And a retreat so distant as may show 
No thoughts of a return when once I go. 
Give me a country, how remote soe'er, 
Where happiness a moderate rate doth bear ; 
Where poverty itself in plenty flows, 
And all the solid use of riches knows. 
The ground about the house maintains it there ; 
The house maintains the ground about it here. 
Here even hunger's dear, and a full board 
Devours the vital substance of the lord. 
The land itself does there the feast bestow; 
The land itself must here to market go. 
Three or four suits one winter here does waste ; 
One suit does there three or four winters last. 
Here every frugal man must oft be cold, 
And little luke-warm fires to you sold ; 
There fire's an element as cheap and free, 
Almost, as any other of the three. 
Stay you then here, and live among the great, 
Attend their sports, and at their table eat ; 
When all the bounties here of men you score, 
The place's bounty there will give you more. 



Cowley. 



FLORUS. 

FLOURISHED ABOUT A. D. 100. 

Lucius Annteus Florus, a native of Gaul, or, as some say, of Spain, 
lived, probably, at the close of the first and the beginning of the 
second century. He wrote a summary of Roman history, extending 
from the foundation of the city to the establishment of the empire 
under Augustus. It is an excellent compendium of the history of 
this.period, and presents in a striking view all the leading events that 
occurred in it. The author has a very happy faculty of condensa- 
tion : for instance, the conspiracy of Catiline is recounted in two 
pages, and yet nothing essential is omitted. His style, however, is 
by no means worthy of commendation, being far too florid and decla- 
matory. 



568 FLORUS. [a. d. 100. 



THE BATTLE OF CANNiE. 

The fourth, and almost mortal wound of the Roman empire, 
was at Cannse, an obscure village of Apulia ; which, however, 
became famous by the greatness of the defeat, its celebrity 
being acquired by the slaughter of forty thousand men. Here 
the general, the ground, the face of heaven, the day, indeed 
all nature, conspired together for the destruction of the unfor- 
tunate army. For Hannibal, the most artful of generals, not 
content with sending pretended deserters among the Romans, 
who fell upon their rear as they were fighting, but having also 
noted the nature of the ground in those open plains, where 
the heat of the sun is extremely violent, the dust very great, 
and the wind blows constantly, and as it were statedly, from 
the east, drew up his army in such a position, that, while the 
Romans were exposed to all these inconveniences, he himself, 
having heaven, as it were, on his side, fought with wind, dust, 
and sun in his favor. Two vast armies, 1 in consequence, were 
slaughtered till the enemy were satiated, and till Hannibal 
said to his soldiers, "Put up your swords." Of the two com- 
manders, one escaped, the other was slain; which of them 
showed the greater spirit, is doubtful. Paulus was ashamed 
to survive; Varro did not despair. Of the greatness of the 
slaughter the following proofs may be noticed; that the Aufi- 
dus was for some time red with blood; that a bridge was made 
of dead bodies, by order of Hannibal, over the torrent of 
Vergellus ; and that two modii 2 of rings were sent to Carthage, 
and the equestrian dignity estimated by measure. 

It was afterwards not doubted, but that Rome might have 
seen its last day, and that Hannibal, within five days, might 
have feasted in the Capitol, if (as they say that Adherbal, the 
Carthaginian, the son of Bomilcar, observed) " he had known 
as well how to use his victory as how to gain it." But at that 
crisis, as is generally said, either the fate of the city that was 
to be empress of the world, or his own want of judgment, and 
the influence of deities unfavorable to Carthage, carried him 
in a different direction. When he might have taken advantage 
of his victory, he chose rather to seek enjoyment from it, and, 
leaving Rome, to march into Campania and to Tarentum, 

1 The armies of the two consuls, Paulus iErnilius and Varro. 
- Nearly three gallons and three-quarters. 



A. D. 100.] FLORUS. 569. 

where both he and his army soon lost their vigor, so that it 
was justly remarked that "Capua proved a Cannse to Hanni- 
bal;" since the sunshine of Campania, and the warm springs 
of Baiaa, subdued (who could have believed it?) him who had 
been unconquered by the Alps, and unshaken in the field. In 
the mean time the Romans began to recover, and to rise as it 
were from the dead. They had no arms, but they took them 
down from the temples ; men were wanting, but slaves were 
freed to take the oath of service ; the treasury was exhausted, 
but the senate willingly offered their wealth for the public 
service, leaving themselves no gold but what was contained in 
their children's bullce,* and in their own belts and rings. The 
knights followed their example, and the common people that 
of the knights ; so that when the wealth of the private persons 
was brought to the public treasury (in the consulship of 
Laevinus and Marcellus), the registers scarcely sufficed to con- 
tain the account of it, or the hands of the clerks to record it. 



CHARACTER OF FABIUS — SPIRIT OF THE ROMANS. 

How can I sufficiently praise the wisdom of the centuries in 
the choice of magistrates, when the younger sought advice 
from the elder as to what consuls should be created ? They 
saw that against an enemy so often victorious, and so full of 
subtlety, it was necessary to contend, not only with courage, 
but with his own wiles. The first hope of the empire, now 
recovering, and, if I may use the expression, coming to life 
again, was Fabius, who found a new mode of conquering 
Hannibal, which was, not. to fight. Hence he received that 
new name, so salutary to the commonwealth, of Cunctator, or 
Delayer. Hence too it happened, that he was called by the 
people the shield of the empire. Through the whole of Sam- 
nium, and through the Falerian and Gauran forests, he so 
harassed Hannibal, that he who could not be reduced by valor, 
was weakened by delay. The Romans then ventured, under 
the command of Claudius Marcellus, to engage him; they 
came to close quarters with him, drove him out of his dear 
Campania, and forced him to raise the siege of Nola. They 
ventured likewise, under the leadership of Sempronius Gracchus, 

1 A sort of ornament suspended from the necks of children, which, among 
the wealthy, was made of gold. It was in the shape of a huhble on water, or, 
as Pliny says, of a heart. 

48* 



570 FLORUS. [A. D. 100. 

to pursue him through Lucania, and to press hard upon his 
rear as he retired; though they then fought him (sad dis- 
honor !) with a body of slaves ; for to this extremity had so 
many disasters reduced them; but they were rewarded with 
liberty ; and from slaves they made them Romans. 

O amazing confidence in the midst of so much adversity ! O 
extraordinary courage and spirit of the Roman people in such 
oppressive and distressing circumstances ! At a time when 
they were uncertain of preserving their own Italy, they yet 
ventured to look to other countries ; and when the enemy were 
at their throat, flying through Campania and Apulia, and 
making an Africa in the middle of Italy, they at the same time 
both withstood that enemy, and dispersed their arms over the 
earth into Sicily, Sardinia, and Spain. 



CONSPIRACY Or CATILINE. 

- It was in the first place expensive indulgence, and, in the 
next, the want of means occasioned by it, with a fair opportu- 
nity at the same time (for the Roman forces were then abroad 
in the remotest parts of the world), that led Catiline to form 
the atrocious design of subjugating his country. With what 
accomplices (direful to relate !) did he undertake to murder 
the senate, to assassinate the consuls, to destroy the city by 
fire, to plunder the treasury, to subvert the entire government, 
and to commit such outrages as not even Hannibal seems to 
have contemplated ! He was himself a patrician ; but this was 
only a small consideration ; there were joined with him the 
Curii, the Porcii, the Sylloa, the Cethegi, the Antronii, the 
Yargunteii, the Longini (what illustrious families, what orna- 
ments of the senate !) and Lentulus also, who was then praetor. 
All these he had as supporters in his horrid attempt. As a 
pledge to unite them in the plot, human blood was introduced, 
which, being carried around in bowls, they drank among them ; 
an act of the utmost enormity, had not that been more enor- 
mous for which they drank it. Then would have been an end 
of this glorious empire, if the conspiracy had not happened in 
the consulship of Cicero and Antonius, of whom one discovered 
the plot by vigilance, and the other suppressed it by arms. 

The revelation of the atrocious project was made by Fulvia, 
a common harlot, but unwilling to be guilty of treason against 
her country. The consul Cicero, accordingly, having convoked 
the senate, made a speech against the accused, who was then 



A, D. 57—118.]' TACITUS. 571 

present in the house; but nothing further was effected by it, 
than that the enemy made off, openly and expressly declaring 
that he would extinguish the flame raised against him by a 
general ruin. He then set out to an army which had been 
prepared by Manlius in Etruria, intending to advance under 
arms against the city. Lentulus, meanwhile, promising him- 
self the kingdom portended to his family by the Sibylline verses, 
disposed throughout the city, against a day appointed by Cati- 
line, men, combustibles, and weapons. And not confined to 
plotting among the people of the city, the rage for the con- 
spiracy, having excited the deputies of the Allobroges, who 
happened then to be at Rome, to give their voice in favor of 
war, would have spread beyond the Alps, had not a letter of 
Lentulus been intercepted through the information of Vultur- 
cius. Hands were immediately laid on the barbarian deputies, 
by order of Cicero ; and the praetor was openly convicted in 
the senate. When a consultation was held about their pun- 
ishment, Caesar gave his opinion that they should be spared 
for the sake of their rank, Cato that they should suffer the 
penalty due to their crime. Cato's advice being generally 
adopted, the traitors were strangled in prison. 

But though a portion of the conspirators was thus cut off, 
Catiline did not desist from his enterprise. Marching, how- 
ever, with an army from Etruria against his country, he was 
defeated by a force of Antonius that encountered him on the 
way. How desperate the engagement was, the result mani- 
fested; for not a man of the rebel troops survived. Whatever 
place each had occupied in the battle, that very spot, when life 
was extinct, he covered with his corpse. Catiline was found, 
far in advance of his men, among the dead bodies of the enemy ; 
a most glorious death, had he thus fallen for his country. 



TACITUS. 
a. d. 57—118. 



Caius Cornelius Tacitus, the historian, was born about A. D. 57. 
His father is supposed to have been the same Cornelius Tacitus whom 
Pliny describes as belonging to the Equestrian Order, and as Pro- 
curator of the Belgian Gaul. At an early age he applied himself to 
the study of eloquence, with a view to obtain distinction as an advo- 



5T2 tacitus. [a. d. 57-118. 

cate ; and he also served some campaigns in the army, as the neces- 
sary qualification required of every candidate for a magistracy. At 
the age of twenty-one, he married the daughter of the celebrated 
Cn. Julius Agricola ; ten years afterwards, he was one of the praetors ; 
and nine years later, that is, in A. D. 97, in the first year of the 
reign of Nerva, he was appointed to the dignity of consul. Once, after 
this period, his name is mentioned, together with that of the younger 
Pliny, 1 as the joint and successful accusers of Marius Priscus, Pro- 
consul of Africa, for multiplied acts of cruelty and corruption in his 
Province. But the later years of his life seem to have been devoted 
mostly to the composition of his histories ; a labor in which he was 
interrupted by his premature death, which took place about A. D. 
118. 

In point of external advantages, no Roman had hitherto been so 
well fitted for the office of an historian as Tacitus. Practically ac- 
quainted -with civil and military affairs, gifted with a fair fortune, en- 
joying the highest public honors, with ample and undisturbed leisure, 
and writing in the reign of a sovereign (Trajan) who had no desire to 
see the truth concealed or corrupted, he had all opportunities of ac- 
quiring information, without any temptation to forsake his duty as an 
historian from motives of hope or fear ; and it could only be a ques- 
tion whether his own moral and intellectual qualities were such as 
worthily to correspond with the favors conferred on him by fortune. 
These qualities were undoubtedly of a very high order. He observes 
a fair and temperate tone in his censures even of the very worst cha- 
racters, and does not allow himself to be hurried away by the feelings 
of moral indignation which could not but arise within him, when con- 
templating such a tissue of various crimes as that which it was his 
business to record. His remarks are always striking, mostly just, and 
often profound ; and his narrative is clear, sensible, and animated. 
His delineations of cbaracter are lively, and apparently just, and his 
sentiments on political questions fair and judicious. His authority 
with regard to all points of Roman history is highly valuable, and, for 
those times with which he is more immediately concerned, we could 
hardly desire a better guide. 

The extant works of Tacitus are : 1. A Life of his Father-in-law, 

1 Tacitus and Plinius were most intimate friends. Truthfulness is con- 
spicuous in the writings of both ; and "incorruptible virtue is as visible in 
the pages of Tacitus as benevolence is in the letters of Pliny. They mutually 
influenced each others character and principles ; their tastes and pursuits 
were similar; they loved each other dearly; corresponded regularly; cor- 
rected each other's works, and accepted patiently and gratefully each other's 
criticisms.'* — Browne* s English Literature. 



A. D. 51-118.] TACITUS. 5T3 

Agricola. This, though sometimes obscure — owing doubtless to the 
corruption of the text — is justly admired as a specimen of biography 
which portrays, in the author's peculiar manner, and with many mas- 
terly touches, the virtues and abilities of one of the most illustrious 
of the Romans. 2. A Treatise on the Manners and Nations of Ger- 
many, which contains much curious information respecting the cus- 
toms, habits, and character of that warlike, and virtuous, and high- 
minded people. 3. A small portion of a voluminous work entitled, 
" Histories." They comprehended a period from the second consulship 
of Galba, A. D. 69, to the death of Domitian, A. D. 96. He intended, 
had his life been spared, to add the reigns of Nerva and Trajan, "the 
materials fur which," he says, " are more plentiful and trustworthy, 
because of the unusual felicity of an age in which men were allowed 
to think as they pleased, and to give utterance to what they thought." 
4. Annates, " Annals," beginning with the death of Augustus, A. D. 
14, and closing with the death of Nero, A. D. 68. They consisted of 
sixteen books, but about one-half of them are lost. 5. A Dialogue on 
the Decline of Eloquence, the genuineness of which has been doubted 
by some, but without much foundation. 1 



CUSTOMS AND CHARACTER OF THE GERMAN TRIBES. 

They regard rank in the selection of their kings, but valor 
determines the choice of their military chiefs. The kings do 
not possess absolute or unlimited power; and the chiefs exert 
influence by their example rather than by authority ; if they 
appear active, and prominent as leaders in the battle, they con- 
trol others by the admiration which they excite. To put to 
death, imprison, or even scourge, is allowed to none except the 
priests ; as if it were not for punishment nor by the command 

1 Editions. The edition of Ernesti, by Oberlin, Leipsic, 1811, is valuable 
as containing the notes and excursus of Lipsius ; also, Bekker, Leipsic, 1831, 
2 vols. 8vo.'; and Orelli, Zurich, 1848, 2 vols. 8vo. An excellent college 
edition of the Germania and Agricola, with English notes, and a Life of 
Tacitus, has been published by Prof. Tyler, of Amherst College. Dr. Wil- 
liam Smith has also given us a good edition, with notes, of the " Germania, 
Agricola, and Eirst Book of the Annals," London, 1855. But the edition 
of the "Germania, with Ethnological Dissertations and Notes," by R. G. 
Latham, F. R. S., London, 1851, 8vo., is the fullest and ablest ever published, 
and leaves nothing more upon this treatise to be desired by the student. 
Its distinguishing feature is the great prominence given in it to ethnological 
investigations — matters which are too often passed over by other editors of 
the classics ; and this, for a very good reason, because they are rarely com- 
petent to do justice to them. The English versions of Tacitus are by Gordon 
and Murphy. 



574 tacitus. [a d. 51-118. 

of the chief, but at the will of the god, whom they believe to 
be present in the conflict ; hence they carry into battle certain 
standards, with images of animals represented on them, taken 
from their sacred groves. 

It is an especial spur to valor that the companies of their 
infantry and cavalry are not formed by chance or any accidental 
concourse, but they are composed of families and relatives, and 
moreover the dearest objects of their affection are near, so that 
the wailing of the women and the crying of the children can 
be distinctly heard. Every one considers these the most re- 
vered witnesses, the most valued approvers of his deeds. They 
show their wounds to their mothers and their wives, who do 
not shrink from counting and examining them ; they even de- 
light to encourage and carry food to the warriors in the hour 
of combat. There is a tradition that certain armies, when 
already wavering and yielding, have been restored by their 
women through the importunity of their entreaties, their de- 
mand for death at the hands of their countrymen, and their 
vivid representation of the horrors of impending captivity — 
for they fear this much more in the persons of their women ; 
they even esteem those states more firmly bound by treaty, of 
whom noble maidens as well as youths are required as hostages. 
Moreover, they believe there is something holy and prophetic 
in their women, so that they carefully attend to their advice 
and oracular responses. 

They worship Mercury (Woden) more than any other deity, 
whom, upon set days, they deem it proper to propitiate even 
with human victims. Hercules (Thor) and Mars (Taisco) 
they appease with such animals as the Romans use. 

They do not think it becoming to the dignity of the gods 
to confine them within the walls of temples, or to make any 
images of them resembling the human countenance. They 
dedicate groves and woodlands, and call by the names of 
deities that mysterious presence which they view with the eye 
of reverence only. 

It was the six hundred and fortieth year of Rome, in the 
consulship of Csecilius Metellus and Papirius Carbo, when the 
arms of the Cimbri were first heard of. From that time, if we 
reckon to the second consulate of the Emperor Trajan, it is 
about two hundred and ten years. So long has Rome at- 
tempted to conquer Germany. During this long interval there 
have been many disasters on both sides. Xot the Samnite, 
not the Carthaginians, not Spain nor Gaul, not even the Par- 
tisans have more frequently defeated us ; since German liberty 



A. D. 5T— 118.] TACITUS. 575 

is a mightier principle than Parthian monarchy. For what else 
than the slaughter of Crassus has the East reproached us with — 
herself humbled beneath Ventidius, and losing her own leader 
Pacorus ? 

But the Germans routed or captured Carbo and Cassius, and 
Scaurus Aurelius and Servilius Csepio, with five consular 
armies of the republic — took Yarus and his three legions even 
from Caesar. Nor did Caius Marius in Italy, the Emperor 
Julius in Gaul, Drusus, Nero, and Germanicus in their own 
land defeat them with impunity. Subsequently the loud threats 
of Caligula were ridiculed ; and when, through our own dis- 
sension and civil war, they enjoyed tranquillity, they took the 
winter quarters of the legions by storm, they aspired to the 
dominion of Gaul ; and again repulsed, from that period to 
the most recent times, they have been rather vainly triumphed 
over than actually conquered. 



USES OP BIOGRAPHY. CONDITION OF ROME. 

Not even in our times has the age, though neglectful of its 
own great men, ceased to practise that ancient custom of 
transmitting to posterity the exploits and private life of. illus- 
trious men, as often as distinguished and eminent qualities have 
vanquished a fault common to both small and large states, viz., 
ignorance and envy of excellence. But with our ancestors, as 
the performance of actions worthy of remembrance was more 
easy and less obstructed, so all the most remarkable for talent 
were disposed to commemorate virtue, not through personal 
favor or self-seeking, but through the consciousness of having 
performed a worthy deed, as their only reward. And many 
have deemed it a mark of conscious integrity rather than of 
arrogance to write their own biography. This, in the case of 
Rutilius and Scaurus, did not impair confidence or incur cen- 
sure ; so true is it that virtues are held in the highest estima- 
tion in those very times when they are most easily produced. 
But had I undertaken to write the life of Agricola immediately 
after his decease, I should have needed permission ; but since 
I should have fallen on times so cruel and hostile to virtue, I 
would not have asked it. 

We read that the panegyric of Paetus Thrasea by Arulenus 
Rusticus, and of Priscus Helvidius by Herennius Senecio, was 
held to be a capital offence. Nor were cruelties inflicted merely 
upon the authors, but also upon the books — the officers of jus- 



576 tacitus. [a. d. 51-118. 

tice having been required to burn publicly in the forum the 
memorials of those most illustrious men. They thought, for- 
sooth, that in that fire would be consumed the free speech of 
the Roman people, the liberty of the Senate, the common sen- 
timents of mankind. Philosophers and scholars had already 
been banished, lest anything of marked excellence should be 
found. We have certainly afforded a remarkable instance of 
endurance ; and as a past age suffered anarchy, the excess of 
liberty, so have we the height of tyranny, for by a system of 
espionage the right of free speech was taken away. We should 
also have lost the faculty of memory had forgetfulness been as 
voluntary as silence. 

Now at length courage slowly revives ; although Xerva 
Ca3sar, at the very beginning of this most happy age, united 
sovereign power and popular freedom, things formerly deemed 
incompatible, and Xerva Trajan daily increases the prosperity 
of the empire, and the public has assumed not only hopes and 
wishes for security, but has seen these wishes arise to confi- 
dence and stability — yet by a law of human frailty remedies 
operate more tardily than evils ; and as our bodies grow slowly, 
but may be instantly destroyed, so talent and literary zeal can 
be discouraged more easily than revived ; especially because 
the delights of indolence imperceptibly steal in, and sloth once 
scorned is finally embraced. What shall I say of this, that 
during fifteen years, a large share of human life, many have died 
natural deaths, and all the ablest have fallen victims to the 
emperor's cruelty ? A few remain, survivors not only of others, 
but, so to speak, of ourselves, having lost from middle life those 
years in which the young have advanced in silence to old age, 
and the old have almost reached the utmost limits of human 
existence. 



GALGACUS' ADDRESS TO HIS SOLDIERS. 

[Agricola, having repeatedly defeated the Britons in six campaigns, 
forces his' way, in the seventh summer, into Scotland, where the Cale- 
donians and Britons make a last stand under Galgacus. The following 
is a part of Gralgacus' address to his army on the eve of the decisive 
battle. It is in Tacitus' best style, and cannot be excelled for the 
somewhat rough and sententious but passionate eloquence which the 
desperation of a last hope is wont to inspire in " uncultivated" de- 
fenders of their homes.] 



A. D. 57-118.] TACITUS. 577 

Britons — all the previous battles that have been waged 
against the Romans with varied success, were inspired by the 
hope of final aid from our hands, because, being the noblest 
born of all Britain, and, on that account, placed in the very 
penetralia of our fatherland, our sight never having beheld the 
edge of slave-soil, is not blurred by the least glimpse of tyranny. 
Our very seclusion and our glorious retreat have guarded us 
to this day — the remotest of men and the last of freemen. But 
now there is no other nation beyond us, nothing but waves and 
rocks, and the Romans, more pitiless ; whose haughty arro- 
gance you will in vain endeavor to appease by any cringing 
debasement. The thieves of the world, when lands fail to 
satisfy their rapacity that devastates all, they ransack the seas 
also. If their enemy be rich, they are greedy for his wealth ; 
if he be poor, they are eager for his enslavement: 1 — a nation 
which East and West cannot glut; the only nation in the world 
which covets with equal ardor rich states and poor. Extor- 
tion, murder, rapine — in their false tongue are known as power; 
and where they make a solitude, they call it peace. * * * 

But all the incentives to victory are on our side. No wives 
inspire the Roman courage ; no parents are with them to re- 
proach their flight. The majority have either no native coun- 
try, or some foreign one. Few in number, fearful through 
ignorance of their position, looking around with horror on 
these skies, seas, and forests — all unknown, completely hemmed 
in, the gods have given them up to us, as it were already con- 
quered. There is nothing to fear behind there; — ungarrisoned 
forts, colonies of old men, towns disaffected and torn with 
altercations between disloyal subjects and unjust governors. 
Here is your general, here your army; there — exactions of 
tribute, drudgery in mines and the other punishments of slaves. 
To choose these as our lasting portion or at once to avenge 
our wrongs — depends on this field. As you rush into action, 
bethink you of your ancestors and your posterity. 

CHARACTER OF AGRICOLA. 3 

You, Agricola, were indeed blessed not only in the immacu- 
late probity of your life, but in the calm propriety of your 

1 Si locuples hostis est, avari; si pauper, ambitiosi: — untranslatable in 
its concise power. 

3 Agricola died suddenly at Rome, under circumstances that indicate his 
being poisoned by Domitian. The following is the chaste and touching pe- 
roration of our author's tribute to his noble father-in-law. 
49 



578 tacitus. [a. d. 51-118. 

death ; for they tell us who caught your last words, that you 
met the final destiny firmly and cheerfully. But in addition 
to the sorrow of losing a parent, 1 the dejected grief of myself 
and your daughter is increased by the remembrance that it was 
not permitted us to assuage your suffering, to support your 
sinking powers, to fill our vacant hearts with your last looks 
and endearments ; for surely we would have received your dying 
commands and monitions to fix them deeply in our inmost 
minds. Without doubt, best of parents, all honors were 
lavishly accorded to your memory by your loving and assiduous 
wife; yet you were buried with fewer tears, and in the last 
light that met your eyes they craved something that was not. 
If there be some fixed home for the pious departed, if, as wise 
men think, great souls do not perish with the body — rest thou 
peacefully, and recall us, your household, from useless wailing 
and womanish plaints, to the contemplation of your virtues, 
which it were impious to mourn with silent sorrow or audible 
grief. Rather let us adorn your memory by sincere admiration, 
by lasting praises, and, if frail nature will permit, by conform- 
ing ourselves to your example. This will be the true honor 
and pious regard due from every relative of the house. I 
would enjoin this upon both daughter and wife — so to venerate 
the memory of the father and the husband as to constantly 
reflect upon all his deeds and words, and to cherish the form 
and texture of his mind rather than of his body. Xot that I 
think busts made of marble or brass must be done away with ; 
but as the countenances of men are feeble in structure and 
liable to decay, so are the images of those countenances. The 
form of mind is eternal ; and this one cannot hold or express 
by any material or art foreign to it : only in the mould of daily 
duties can its image be cast. Whatever we loved and admired 
in Agricola remains and is to remain, treasured up in the minds 
of men, the duration of ages, the records of all history. Ob- 
livion will settle upon many worthies of old — as if they had 
never achieved renown through deeds or birth; but Agricola, 
fairly delineated, and so handed down, will be a lasting posses- 
sion to future generations. 

1 Tacitus was Agricola's son-in-law, and, with his wife, was unavoidably 
absent from Rome at the time of his father's death. 



A. D. 40-118.] QTJINTILTAN. 519 



QUINTILIAN. 
a. d. 40—118. 

Marcus Fabius Quintilianus, the celebrated rhetorician and critic, 
was born at Rome about A. D. 40. Very little is known of the par- 
ticulars of his life. He studied law, and practised somewhat at the 
bar, but he was chiefly distinguished as a teacher of the principles 
of the art of rhetoric, in which he spent twenty years with a very high 
reputation. Among his pupils may be mentioned Pliny the younger, 
and the two grand nephews of the Emperor Domitian, by whom he was 
invested with the insignia and title of consul. His private character 
seems to have commanded the respect and esteem of his contempora- 
ries. He retired to private life about A. D. 108, and is supposed to 
have died about A. D. 118. 

The chief work which Quintilian has left us, and the one on which 
his fame rests, is entitled De Institutions Oratorio,, or, sometimes, Insti- 
tutions Oratoriae, "Institutes of Oratory," or Education of an Orator, 
and is the most complete course of rhetoric which the ancients have 
left us. It consists of twelve books. The first book contains a dis- 
sertation on the preliminary training requisite, before a youth can 
enter upon the studies necessary to form the accomplished orator, and 
gives us an outline of the method to be pursued in educating children 
from their earliest years : the second book treats of the art of oratory in 
general: the third, fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh are devoted to in- 
vention and arrangement : the eighth, ninth, tenth, and eleventh, to 
composition, including the proper use of the figures of speech, and to 
delivery, comprised under the general term elocutio : the twelfth or 
last, an inquiry into what is essential to the formation of a perfect 
public speaker. 

"This production of Quintilian bears throughout the impress of a 
clear, sound judgment, keen discrimination, and pure taste, improved 
by extensive reading, deep reflection, and long practice. The diction 
is highly polished, and very graceful. The fastidious critic may, in- 
deed, detect here and there an obscure, affected phrase, or a word em- 
ployed in a sense not authorized by the purest models of Latinity, but 
these blemishes, although significant of the age to which the treatise 
belongs, are by no means so numerous or so glaring as seriously to 
injure its general beauty. In copiousness, perspicuity, and technical 
accuracy, it is unquestionably superior to the essay on the same sub- 
ject ascribed to Cicero, although each possesses its peculiar merits. 



580 QUINTILIAN. [a. d. 40-118. 

The sections which, possess the greatest interest for general readers 
are those chapters in the first hook which relate to elementary educa- 
tion ; and the beginning of the tenth book, which furnishes us with 
compressed but spirited history of Greek and Roman literature, in 
which the merits and defects of the great masters, in so far as they 
bear upon the object in view, are seized upon, and exhibited with 
great precision, force, and truth." 1 



CHOICE OF A TEACHER. 

As soon, therefore, as a boy shall have attained such pro- 
ficiency in his studies as to be able to comprehend what we 
have called the first precepts of the teachers of rhetoric, he 
must be put under the professors of that art. 

Of these professors the morals must first be ascertained ; a 
point of which I proceed to treat in this part of my work, not 
because I do not think that the same examination is to be 
made, and with the utmost care, in regard also to other teachers, 
but because the very age of the pupils makes attention to the 
matter still more necessary. For boys are consigned to these 
professors when almost grown up, and continue their studies 
under them even after they are become men ; and greater care 
must in consequence be adopted with regard to them, in order 
that the purity of the master may secure their more tender 
years from corruption, and his authority deter their bolder age 
from licentiousness. Nor is it enough that he give, in himself, 
an example of the strictest morality, unless he regulate, also, 
by severity of discipline, the conduct of those who come to 
receive his instructions. 

Let him adopt, then, above all things, the feelings of a 
parent towards his pupils, and consider that he succeeds to the 
place of those by whom the children were intrusted to him. 
Let him neither have vices in himself, nor tolerate them in 
others. Let his austerity not be stern, nor his affability too 
easy, lest dislike arise from the one, or contempt from the 
other. Let him discourse frequently on what is honorable and 
good, for the oftener he admonishes, the more seldom will he 
have to chastise. Let him not be of an angry temper, and yet 

1 Professor Ramsay, of the Glasgow University. 

Editions : The best edition of Quintilian is that begun by Spalding and 
finished by Zumpt, 6 vols. 8vo., Leipsic, 1798-1829. The best English trans- 
lations are, that by Guthrie, 2 vols. 8vo., London, 1756 ; and that by Rev. 
John Selby Watson, 2 vols. 12mo., published in Bohn's library. 



A. D. 40-118.] QUINTILIAN. 581 

not a cormiver at what ought to be corrected. Let him be 
plain in his mode of teaching, and patient of labor, but rather 
diligent in exacting tasks than fond of giving them of excessive 
length. Let him reply readily to those who put questions to 
him, and question of his own accord those who do not. In 
commending the exercises of his pupils, let him be neither nig- 
gardly nor lavish ; for the one quality begets dislike of labor, 
and the other self-complacency. In amending what requires 
correction, let him not be harsh, and, least of all, not reproach- 
ful ; for that very circumstance, that some tutors blame as if 
they hated, deters many young men from their proposed course 
of study. Let him every day say something, and even much, 
which, when the pupils hear, they may carry away with them, 
foi; though he may point out to them, in their course of read- 
ing, plenty of examples for their imitation, yet the living voice, 
as it is called, feeds the mind more nutritiously, and especially 
the voice of the teacher, whom his pupils, if they are but rightly 
instructed, both love and reverence. How much more readily 
we imitate those whom we like, can scarcely be expressed. 



PUPILS SHOULD REGARD THEIR TUTORS AS INTELLECTUAL 
PARENTS. 

Having spoken thus fully concerning the duties of teachers, 
I give pupils, for the present, only this one admonition, that 
they are to love their tutors not less than their studies, and to 
regard them as parents, not indeed of their bodies, but of their 
minds. Such affection contributes greatly to improvement, 
for pupils, under its influence, will not only listen with plea- 
sure, but will believe what is taught them, and will desire to 
resemble their instructors. They will come together, in assem- 
bling for school, with pleasure and cheerfulness ; they will not 
be angry when corrected, and will be delighted when praised ; 
and they will strive, by their devotion to study, to become as 
dear as possible to the master. Tor as it is the duty of pre- 
ceptors to teach, so it is that of pupils to show themselves 
teachable ; neither of these duties, else, will be of avail without 
the other. And as the generation of man is effected by both 
parents, and as you will in vain scatter seed, unless the fur- 
rowed ground, previously softened, cherish it, so neither can 
eloquence come to its growth unless by mutual agreement be- 
tween him who communicates and him who receives. 

49* 



582 QUINTILIAN. [a. d. 40-118. 



WHAT IS ESSENTIAL TO A TRUE ORATOR. 

Callicles maintains that " he who would be a trne orator 
must be a just man, and must know what is just ;" and it is 
therefore evident that oratory was not considered by Plato an 
evil, but that he thought true oratory could not be attained 
by any but a just and good man. In the Phasdrus he sets forth 
still more clearly, that the art cannot be fully acquired without 
a knowledge of justice, an opinion to which I also assent. 
Would Plato, if he had held any other sentiments, have writ- 
ten the Defence of Socrates, and the Eulogy of those who fell 
in defence of their country, 1 compositions which are certainly 
work for the orator ? But he has even inveighed against that 
class of men who used their abilities in speaking for bad ends. 
Socrates also thought the speech which Lysias had written 
for him when accused, improper for him to use, though it was 
a general practice, at that time, to compose for parties appear- 
ing before the judges speeches which they themselves might 
deliver ; and thus an elusion of the law, by which one man was 
not allowed to speak for another, was effected. By Plato, also, 
those who separated oratory from justice, and preferred what 
is probable to what is true, were thought no proper teachers 
of the art, for so he signifies, too, in his Phnedrus. Cornelius 
Celsus, moreover, may be thought to have been of the same 
opinion with those to whom I have just referred, for his words 
are, the orator aims only at the semblance of truth; and he adds, 
a little after, not 'purity of conscience, but the victory of his 
client, is the reward of the pleader. "Were such assertions true, 
it would become only the worst of men to give such pernicious 
weapons to the most mischievous of characters, and to aid dis- 
honesty with precepts ; but let those who hold this opinion 
consider what ground they have for it. 

Let me, for my part, as I have undertaken to form a perfect 
orator, whom I would have, above all, to be a good man, re- 
turn to those who have better thoughts of the art. Some have 
pronounced oratory to be identical with civil polity; Cicero 
calls it a part of civil polity; and a knowledge of civil polity, 
he thinks, is nothing less than wisdom itself. Some have made 

1 Plato wrote a funeral oration on some Athenians who had fallen in bat- 
tle; a composition, says Cicero, which was so well received, that it was 
recited publicly on a certain dayi every year. 



A. D. 40-118.] QUINTILIAN. 583 

it a part of philosophy, among whom is Isocratcs. With this 
character of it, the definition that oratory is the science of 
speaking well, agrees excellently, for it embraces all the virtues 
of oratory at once, and includes also the character of the true 
orator, as he cannot speak well unless he be a good man. To 
the same purpose is the definition of Chrysippus, derived from 
Cleanthes, the science of speaking properly. There are more 
definitions in the same philosopher, but they relate rather to 
other 1 questions. A definition framed in these terms, to per- 
suade to what is necessary, would convey the same notion, except 
that it makes the art depend on the result. Areus* defines 
oratory well, saying that it is to speak according to the excellence 
of speech. Those also exclude bad men from oratory who con- 
sider it as the knowledge of civil duties, since they deem such 
knowledge virtue ; but they confine it within too narrow bounds, 
and to political questions. Albutius, 3 no obscure professor or 
author, allows that it is the art of speaking well, but errs in 
giving it limitations, adding, on political questions, and ivith 
probability, of both which restrictions I have already disposed ; 
those, too, are men of good intention, who consider it the 
business of oratory to think and speak rightly. 

These are almost all the most celebrated definitions, and 
those about which there is the most controversy ; for to discuss 
all would neither be much to the purpose, nor would be in my 
power; since a foolish desire, as I think, has prevailed among 
the writers of treatises on rhetoric, to define nothing in the 
same terms that another had already used ; a vain-glorious 
practice which shall be far from me. For I shall say, not what 
I shall invent, but what I shall approve ; as, for instance, that 
oratory is the art of speaking well; since, when the best defini- 
tion is found, he who seeks for another must seek for a worse. 

This being admitted, it is evident at the same time what 
object, what highest and ultimate end, oratory has ; that object 
or end which is called in Greek telos (Wa.os), and to which every 
art tends ; for if oratory be the art of speaking well, its object 
and ultimate end must be to speak well. 

1 Not to this, whether eloquence is to be attributed to a good man only. 

2 He may possibly have been the Stoic philosopher of Alexandria, for 
whose sake Caesar Octavianus spared that city. 

3 Caius Albucius Silus, of Novaria, a rhetorician of the age of Augustus. 



584 QUINTILIAN. [a. d. 40-118. 



IS ORATORY USEFUL ? 

Next comes the question whether oratory is useful ; for some 
are accustomed to declaim violently agaiust it, and, what is 
most ungenerous, to make use of the power of oratory to lay 
accusations against oratory ; they say that eloquence is that 
which saves the wicked from punishment ; by the dishonesty of 
which the innocent are at times condemned ; by which delibera- 
tions are influenced to the worse ; by which not only popular 
seditions and tumults, but even inexpiable wars, are excited ; 
and of which the efficacy is the greatest when it exerts itself for 
falsehood against truth. Even to Socrates, the comic writers 
make it a reproach that he taught how to make the worse reason 
appear the better ; and Plato on his part says that Tisias and 
Gorgias 1 professed the same art. To these they add examples 
from Greek and Roman history, and give a list of persons who, 
by exerting such eloquence as was mischievous, not only to 
individuals but to communities, have disturbed or overthrown 
the constitutions of whole states ; asserting that eloquence on 
that account was banished from the state of Lacedaamon, and 
that even at Athens, where the orator was forbidden to move 
the passions, the powers of eloquence were in a manner cur- 
tailed. 

Under such a mode of reasoning, neither will generals, nor 
magistrates, nor medicine, nor even wisdom itself, be of any 
utility; for Flaminius 2 was a general, and the Gracchi, Satnr- 
nini, and Glauciae were magistrates; in the hands of physi- 
cians poisons have been found; and among those who abuse 
the name of philosophers have been occasionally detected the 
most horrible crimes. We must reject food, for it has often 
given rise to ill' health; we must never go under roofs, for they 
sometimes fall upon those who dwell beneath them ; a sword 
must not be forged for a soldier, for a robber may use the same 
weapon. Who does not know that fire and water, without 
which life cannot exist, and (that I may not confine myself to 
things of earth) that the sun and moon, the chief of the celes- 
tial luminaries, sometimes produce hurtful effects ? 

Will it be denied, however, that the blind Appius, by the 

1 "Tisias and Gorgias, by the power of words, make small thingsjgreat, 
and great things small." — Plato Phcedr. 

- The general who was defeated by Hannibal at the lake Thrasimenus. 



A. D. 40-118.] QUINTILIAN. 585 

force of his eloquence, broke off a dishonorable treaty of peace 
about to be concluded with Pyrrhus? Was not the divine 
eloquence of Cicero, in opposition to the agrarian laws, even 
popular t l Did it not quell the daring of Catiline, and gain, 
in the toga, the honor of thanksgivings, the highest 3 that is 
given to generals victorious in the field ? Does not oratory 
often free the alarmed minds of soldiers from fear, and per- 
suade them, when they are going to face so many perils in 
battle, that glory is better than life? Nor indeed would the 
Lacedaemonians and Athenians influence me more than the 
people of Rome, among whom the highest respect has always 
been paid to orators. Nor do I think that founders of cities 
would have induced their unsettled multitudes to form them- 
selves into communities by any other means than by the influ- 
ence of the art of speaking ; nor would legislators, without the 
utmost power of oratory, have prevailed on men to bind them- 
selves to submit to the dominion of law. Even the very rules 
for the conduct of life, beautiful as they are by nature, have 
yet greater power in forming the mind when the radiance of 
eloquence illumines the beauty of the precepts. Though the 
weapons of eloquence, therefore, have effect in both directions, 
it is not just that that should be accounted an evil which we 
may use to a good purpose. 



THE PERORATION OF A DISCOURSE. 

That which produces the most powerful impression in the 
peroration of a speech, is pity, which not only forces the judge 
to change his opinions, but to manifest the feelings in his 
breast even by tears. Pity will be excited by dwelling either 
on that which the accused has suffered, or on that which he is 
actually suffering, or on that which awaits him if he be con- 
demned ; representations which have double force, when we 
show from what condition he has fallen, and into what condition 
he is in danger of falling. To these considerations age and 
sex may add weight, as well as objects of affection, I mean 
children, parents, and other relatives ; and all these matters 

1 A speech against the agrarian laws could not have been well received 
by the people, without being in the highest degree forcible and eloquent. 
"While you spoke (0 Cicero!), the tribes relinquished the agrarian law, 
that is, their own meat and drink." — Plin. H. N. vii. 31. 

2 Being preliminary to a triumph, by which, however, it was not always 
followed. 



586 QUINTILIAN. [a. d. 40-118. 

may be treated in various ways. Sometimes also the advocate 
numbers himself among his client's connections, as Cicero in 
his speech for Milo : unhappy that I am 1 unfortunate 
that thou art! Could you, Milo, by means of those who are this 
day your judges, recall me into my country, and cannot I, by 
means of the same judges, retain you in yours? This is a very 
good resource, if, as was then the case, entreaty is unsuited to 
the party who is accused ; for who would endure to hear Milo 
supplicating for his life, when he acknowledged that he had 
killed a nobleman because he deserved to be killed? Cicero, 
therefore, sought to gain Milo the favor of the judges for his 
magnanimity, and took upon himself the part of suppliant for 
him. 

In this part of a speech prosopopeice are extremely effective, 
that is, fictitious addresses delivered in another person's cha- 
racter, such as are suitable either to a prosecutor or defendant. 
Even mute objects may touch the feelings, either when we 
speak to them ourselves, or represent them as speaking. But 
the feelings are very strongly moved by the personification of 
characters ; for the judge seems not to be listening to an 
orator lamenting the sufferings of others, but to hear with his 
own ears the expressions and tones of the unfortunate suppliants 
themselves, whose presence, even without speech, would be 
sufficient to call forth tears ; and as their pleadings would ex- 
cite greater pity if they themselves uttered them, so they are 
in some degree more effective when they are spoken apparently 
by their own mouth in a personification : as with actors on the 
stage, the same voice and the same pronunciation have greater 
power to excite the feelings when accompanied with a mask 
representing the character. Cicero, accordingly, though he 
puts no entreaties into the mouth of Milo, but rather commends 
him to favor for his firmness of mind, has yet attributed to him 
words and lamentations not unworthy of a man of spirit ; 
labors, undertaken by me in vain! deceitful hopes! 
thoughts, cherished by me to no purpose ! 

Yet our supplications for pity should not be long ; as it is 
observed, not without reason, that nothing dries sooner than 
tears. For, since time lessens even natural sorrows, the repre- 
sentation of sorrow, which we produce in a speech, must lose 
its effect still sooner ; and, if we are prolix in it, the hearer, 
wearied with tears, will recover his tranquillity, and return 
from the emotion which had surprised him to the exercise of 
his reason. Let us not allow the impressions that we make, 
therefore, to cool, but, when we have raised the feelings of our 



A. D. 40-118.] QUINTILIAN. 58? 

audience to the utmost, let us quit the subject, and not expect 
that any person will long bewail the misfortunes of another. 
Not only in other parts of our speech, accordingly, but most 
of all in this part, our eloquence ought gradually to rise ; for 
whatever does not add to that which has been said, seems even 
to take away from it, and the feeling which begins to subside 
soon passes away. 

We may excite tears, however, not only by words, but by 
acts ; and hence it became a practice to exhibit persons on 
their trial in a squalid and pitiful garb, accompanied with their 
children and parents ; hence, too, we see blood-stained swords 
produced by accusers, with fractured bones extracted from 
wounds, and garments spotted with blood ; we behold wounds 
unbound, and scourged backs exposed to view. The effect 
of such exhibitions is generally very strong, so that they fix 
the attention of the spectators on the act as if it were com- 
mitted before their eyes. The blood-stained toga of Julius 
Caesar, when exhibited in the forum, excited the populace of 
Rome almost to madness. It was known that he was killed ; 
his body was even stretched on the bier ; yet his robe, drenched 
in blood, excited such a vivid idea of the crime, that Caesar 
seemed not to have been assassinated, but to be subjected to 
assassination at that very moment. But I would not for that 
reason approve of a device of which I have read, and which I 
have myself seen adopted, a representation, displayed in a 
painting or on a curtain, of the act at the atrocity of which the 
judge was to be shocked. For how conscious must a pleader 
•be of his inefficiency, who thinks that a dumb picture will speak 
better for him than his own words ? But a humble garb, and 
wretched appearance, on the part as well of the accused as of 
his relatives, has, I know, been of much effect ; and I am 
aware that entreaties have contributed greatly to save accused 
persons from death. To implore mercy of the judges, there- 
fore, by the defendant's dearest objects of affection (that is to 
say, if he has children, wife, or parents), will be of great ad- 
vantage, as well as to invoke the gods, since such invocation 
seems to proceed from a clear conscience. 



588 juvenal. [a. d. 38-119. 



JUVENAL. 
a. d. 38—119. 

Decimus Junius Juvenalis was born probably at Aquinuin, about 
A. D. 38,' and at an early age repaired to Rome. For many years lie 
is said to have occupied himself in declaiming, and, as an able critic 
remarks, " every page of bis writings bears evidence to tbe accuracy 
of tbis assertion. Eacb piece is a finisbed rbetorical essay, energetic, 
glowing, and sonorous ; tbe successive attacks upon vice are all planned 
witb systematic skill ; tbe arguments are marsballed in imposing 
array ; tbey advance supported by a beavy artillery of powerful and 
well-aimed illustrations, and sweeping impetuously onward, carry by 
assault eacb position as in turn assailed." But our knowledge of bis 
life is very meagre. He is supposed to bave employed bis talents for 
satire at about tbe age of forty, in tbe reign of Domitian, but most of 
his satires were composed in tbe reign of Trajan. He died about 
A. D. 119, universally respected for bis private virtues, as be was 
admired for bis learning, bis talents, and bis powers as a satiric poet. 

Tbe extant works of Juvenal consist of sixteen satires, all composed 
in heroic hexameters. They are characterized by great passion, and 
lofty indignation against tbe vices of the times, but they are so fre- 
quently intermixed with pictures of pollution, that they cannot be read 
without leaving impure images upon the mind. While, therefore, the 
fine moral reflections of this satirist, independently of their sublimity, 
are strikingly just and profound, and often rise above the level of 
mere philosophy, yet his general usefulness as a satirist is much 
limited by tbe grossness of his indelicacy, which equals, at least, the 
acerbity of his invective. The benefit, therefore, which such a writer 
confers is extremely doubtful, since little good can arise from fami- 
liarizing tbe fancy witb pictures of pollution, on which an impure 
imagination may dwell with pleasure, and by which it may be fed as 
with congenial food; but which a pure mind cannot contemplate 
without losing some portion of its innocent simplicity. 2 

1 It is utterly impossible to arrive at any exact conclusion as regards either 
the birth or death of Juvenal. The dates here given are such as are most 
probably true. 

3 " The picture of Roman manners, as painted by the glowing pencil of 
Juvenal, is truly appalling. The fabric of society was in ruins. The popular 
religion was rejected with scorn, and its place was not occupied even by the 
creed of natural religion. Nothing remained but the empty pomp, pageant 
and ceremonial. The administration of the state was a mass of corruption : 



A. D. 38-119.] JUVENAL. 589 



THE VANITY OF HUMAN WISHES. 1 

In every clime, from Ganges' distant stream, 

To Gades, gilded by the western beam, 

Few, from the clouds of mental error free, 

In its true light or good or evil see. 

For what, with reason, do we seek or shun ? 2 

What plan, how happily soe'er begun, 

But, finish'd, we our own success lament, 

And rue the pains, so fatally misspent ? — 

To headlong ruin see whole houses driven, 

Curs'd with their prayers by too indulgent heaven ! 

Bewildered thus, by folly or by fate, 
We beg pernicious gifts in every state, 
In peace, in war. A full and rapid flow 
Of eloquence, lays many a speaker low : 
E'en strength itself is fatal ; Milo tries 
His wondrous arms, and — in the trial dies ! 

freedmen and foreigners, full of artful cunning, but destitute of principle, 
had the ear of the sovereign, and filled their coffers with bribes and confisca- 
tion. The grave and decent reserve which was characteristic of every Ro- 
man, in olden times, was thrown off even by the higher classes ; and emperors 
took a public part in scenes of folly and profligacy, and exposed themselves 
as charioteers, as dancers, and as actors ; nothing was respected but wealth — 
nothing provoked contempt but poverty. A vote was only valued for its 
worth in money; and that people, whose power was once absolute, would 
now sell their souls for bread and the Circensian games. 

"Players and dancers had all honors and offices at their disposal. The 
city swarmed with informers who made the rich their prey ; every man feared 
even his most intimate friend. To be noble, virtuous, innocent, was no pro- 
tection : the only bond of friendship was to be an accomplice in crime. 
Philosophy was a cheat, and moral teaching an hypocrisy. The moralists 
'preached like Curii, but lived like bacchanals.' The very teacher would 
do his best to corrupt his pupil : the guardian would defraud his ward. 
Luxury and extravagance brought men to ruin, which they sought to repair 
by flattering the childless, legacy-hunting, and gambling ; and even patri- 
cians would cringe for a morsel of bread. The higher classes were selfish and 
cruel and insolent to their inferiors and dependants. Gluttony was so dis- 
gusting that six thousand sesterces ($250), would be given for a mullet ; and 
the glutton would artificially relieve his stomach of its load, in order to pre- 
pare for another meal. Crimes which cannot be named were common. The 
morals of the female sex were as depraved as those of the men. Even those 
who were not so profligate aped the manners and habits of men, and would 
even meet in mock combat ; and there was no public amusement so immoral 
or so cruel as not to be disgraced by the presence of the female sex." — 
Browne's Roman Literattore. 

1 This extract is from the 10th Satire, which Dr. Johnson has so admirably 
paraphrased. 

3 We, ignorant of ourselves, 

Beg often our own harms, which the wise Powers 

Deny us for our good ; so find we profit 

By losing of our prayers. — Shakspeare. 



590 JUVENAL. [A. D. 38-119. 

But Avarice wider spreads her deadly snare, 
And hoards amass 'd with too successful care ; 
Hoards, which o'er all paternal fortunes rise, 
As, o'er the dolphin, towers the whale in size. 
For this, in other times, at Nero's word, 
The ruffian bands unsheath'd the murderous sword, 
Rush'd to the swelling coffers of the great, 
Chased Lateranus from his lordly seat, 
Besieg'd too wealthy Seneca's wide walls, 
And closed, terrific, round Longinus' halls : 
While sweetly iu their cocklofts slept the poor, 
And heard no soldier thundering at their door. 

The traveller, freighted with a little wealth, 
Sets forth at night, and wins his way by stealth: 
E'en then he fears the bludgeon and the blade, 
And starts and trembles at a rush's shade : 
While, void of care, the beggar trips along, 
And, in the spoiler's presence, trolls his song. 

The first great wish that all with rapture own, 
The general cry to every temple known, 
Is gold, gold, gold! — "and let, all gracious powers, 
The largest chest the forum boasts, be ours !" 
Yet none from earthen bowls destruction sip : 
Dread then tbe draught, when, mantling at your lip, 
The goblet sparkles, radiant from the mine, 
And tbe broad gold reflects the ruby wine. 

And do we now admire the stories told 
Of the two sages, so renown'd of old, 
How this forever laugh'd, whene'er he stept 
• Beyond the threshold ; that forever wept ? 
But all can laugh ; the wonder yet appears, 
What fount supplied the eternal stream of tears ! 
Democritus, at every step he took, 
His sides with unextinguished laughter shook ; 
He laugh'd aloud to see the vulgar fears, 
Laugh'd at their joys, and sometimes at their tears. 
Secure the while, he mock'd at Fortune's frown, 
And when she threaten'd, bade her hang or drown ! 

* * # * # * 

What wrought the Crassi's — what the Pompeys' doom, 
And his who bow'd the stubborn neck of Rome ? 
What but the wild, the unbounded wish to rise, 
Heard, in malignant kindness, by the skies ! 
Few kings, few tyrants, find a bloodless end, 
Or to the grave, without a wound, descend. 

The child, with whom a trusty slave is sent, 
Charg'd with his little scrip, has scarcely spent 
His mite at school, ere all his bosom glows 
With the fond hope he never more foregoes, 
To reach Demostbenes' or Tully's name, 
Rival of both in eloquence and fame ! — 
Yet by this eloquence, alas ! expired 
Each orator, so envied, so admired ! 



A. D. 38-119.] JUVENAL. 591 

Yet by the rapid and resistless sway 
Of torrent genius, each was swept away. 
Genius, for that, the baneful potion sped, 
And lost, from this, the hands and gory head : 
While meaner pleaders unmolested stood, 
Nor stain'd the rostrum with their wretched blood. 
* * & * *• * 

The spoils of war; the trunk in triumph placed 
With all the trophies of the battle graced, 
Crush'd helms, and batter'd shields, and streamers borne 
From vanquish'd fleets, and beams from chariots torn : 
And arcs of triumph, whei'e the captive foe 
Bends, in mute anguish, o'er the pomp below ; 
Are blessings which the slaves of glories rate 
Beyond a mortal's hope, a mortal's fate ! 
Fired with the love of these, what countless swarms, 
Barbarians, Romans, Greeks, have rush'd to arms, 
All danger slighted, and all toil defied, 
And madly conquer'd, or as madly died ! 
So much the raging thirst of fame exceeds 
The generous warmth which prompts to worthy deeds, 
That none confess fair Virtue's genuine power, 
Or woo her to their breast without a dower. 
Yet has this wild desire in other days, 
This boundless avarice of a few for praise, 
This frantic rage for names to grace a tomb, 
Involved whole countries in one general doom. 
Vain rage ! the roots of the wild fig-tree rise, 
Strike through the marble, and their memory dies ! 
For like their mouldering tenants, tombs decay, 
And with the dust they hide, are swept away — 
Produce the urn that Hannibal contains, 
And weigh the mighty dust that yet remains : 
And is this all ! Yet this was once the bold, 
The aspiring chief, whom Afric could not hold, 
Though stretch'd in breadth, from where the Atlantic roars, 
The distant Nilus, and his sunburnt shores, 
In length, from Carthage to the burning zone, 
Where other Moors and elephants are known. 
— Spain conquer'd, o'er the Pyrenees he bounds : 
Nature oppos'd her everlasting mounds, 
Her Alps and snows ; o'er these with torrent force 
He pours, and rends through rocks his dreadful course. 
Already at his feet Italia lies ; — 
Yet thundering on, "Think nothing done," he cries, 
" Till Rome, proud Rome, beneath my fury falls, 
And Afric's standards float along her walls !" 
Big words ! — but view his figure ! view his face ! 
for some master hand the lines to trace, 
As through the Etrurian swamps, by floods increast, 
The one-eyed chief urged his Getulian beast ! 

But what ensued ? Illusive Glory, say : 
Subdued on Zama's memorable day, 



592 juvenal. [a. d. 38-119. 

He flies in exile to a petty state 
With headlong haste ; and at a despot's gate 
Sits, mighty suppliant ! of his life in doubt, 
Till the Bithynian's morning nap be out. 

Nor swords, nor spears, nor stones from engines hurl' 
Shall quell the man whose frown alarm'd the world. 
The vengeance due to Cannse's fatal field, 
And floods of human gore, a ring shall yield. 
Fly, madman, fly, at toil and danger mock, 
Pierce the deep snow, and scale the eternal rock, 
To please the rhetoricians, and become 
A declamation — for the boys of Rome ! 



KNOW THYSELF. 

Heaven sent us "know thyself!" — Be this imprest, 

In living characters, upon thy breast, 

And still resolv'd ; whether a wife thou choose, 

Or to the sacked senate point thy views. — 

Or seek'st thou rather, in some doubtful cause, 

To vindicate thy country's injured laws ? 

Knock at thy bosom, play the censor's part, 

And note, with caution, what and who thou art, 

An orator of force and skill profound, 

Or a mere Matho, emptiness and sound ! 

Yes, know thyself: in great concerns and small, 

Be this thy care, for this, my friend, is all : 

Nor, when thy purse will scarce a gudgeon buy, 

With fond intemperance, for turbots sigh. 



VALUE OF WISDOM — WICKEDNESS OF THE AGE. 

Wisdom, I know, contains a sovereign charm, 
To vanquish Fortune, or at least disarm : 
Blest they who walk by her unerring rule ! 
Nor those unblest, who, tutor'd in life's school, 
Have learn'd of old experience to submit, 
And lightly bear the yoke they cannot quit. 

What day so sacred, which no guilt profanes, 
No secret fraud, no open rapine, stains ? 
What hour, in which no dark assassins prowl, 
Nor point the sword for hire, nor drug the bowl ? 
The good, alas, are few ! " The valued file," 
Less than the gates of Thebes, the mouths of Nile ! 
For now an age is come, that teems with crimes, 
Beyond all precedent of former times ; 
An age so bad, that Nature cannot frame 
A metal base enough to give it name. 



A. D. 38-119.] JUVENAL. 593 



AVARICE. 

Hence almost ev'ry crime, nor do we find, 

That any passion of the human mind, 

So oft has plung'd the sword, or drench'd the bowl, 

As Avarice — that tyrant of the soul. 

For he that will be rich, brooks no delay, 

But drives o'er all, and takes the shortest way : 

What law, or fear, or shame can e'er restrain 

The greedy wretch in full pursuit of gain ? — 

Do but get money, that's a needful task, 
Which way you got it none will ever ask. — 

Curs'd gold ! how high will daring mortals rise, 
In ev'rv guilt, to reach the glitt'ring prize ? 

Pitt. 

COMPETENCY. 

If any ask me what would satisfy 

To make life easy, thus I would reply : 

As much as keeps out hunger, thirst and cold, 

Or what contented Socrates of old : 

As much as made wise Epicurus blest, 

Who in small gardens spacious realms possess'cl. 

This is what Nature's wants may well suffice ; 

He that would more, is covetous, not wise. 



Dryden. 



CONSCIENCE. 



He that commits a sin, shall quickly find 
The pressing guilt lie heavy on his mind : 
Though bribes or favor should assert his cause, 
Pronounce him guiltless, and elude the laws : 
None quits himself: his own impartial thought 
Will damn, and conscience will record the fault. 

Creech, 

LUXURY. 

You ask from whence proceed these monstrous crimes ? 
Once poor, and therefore chaste, in former times 
Our matrons were : no luxury found room 
In low-roof'd houses, and bare walls of loom : 
Their hands with labor harden'd while 'twas light, 
And frugal sleep supplied the quiet night, 
While pinch'd with want, their hunger held 'em straight, 
And Hannibal was hov'ring at the gate. 
50* 



594 juvenal. [a. d. 38-119. 

But wanton, now, and lolling at our ease, 

We suffer all th' inveterate ills of peace, 

And wasteful riot, whose destructive charms 

Revenge the vanquished world of our victorious arms. 

No crime, no lustful actions are unknown, 

Since poverty, our guardian god, is gone. 

Pride, laziness, and all luxurious arts, 

Pour like a deluge in from foreign parts. 

Since gold obscene, and silver found the way, 

Strange fashions with strange bullion to convey, 

And our plain simple manners to betray. 

Dry den. 



■] 



LEGITIMATE OBJECTS OF HUMAN WISHES. 

Shall man then nothing wish ? Advised by me, 
Let the good gods, themselves, consult for thee : 
They what is useful, what expedient, know; 
And for the pleasant, will the fit bestow. 

****** 
Yet, that some rites of worship may be thine, 
Some altar-offerings vow'd at holy shrine, 
For a sane mind in a sane body pray ; 
A soul that looks on death without dismay ; 
That firm prepares the course of life to run, 
And thanks kind Nature, when the race is done : 
A soul that strenuous toils could never tire ; 
From anger calm ; superior to desire : 
That rather would th' Herculean labors prove 
Than banquets, beds of down, and melting sloth of love. 
I show thee that which needs not prayer to gain ! 
Which, of thyself, thou surely may'st obtain : 
The path of tranquil life through virtue lies ; 
With prudence, thou hast all the deities : 
'Tis we, oh Fortune ! who thy power have given ; 
Our weak desires have set thy throne in heaven. 



RIGHT TRAINING OF CHILDREN. 

Yes, there are faults, Fuscinus, that disgrace 
The noblest qualities of birth and place ; 
Which, like infectious blood, transmitted, run 
In one eternal stream from sire to son. 

If, in destructive play, the senior waste 
His joyous nights, the child, with kindred taste, 
Repeats in miniature the darling vice, 
Shakes the small box, and cogs the little dice. 

Nor does that infant fairer hopes inspire, 
Who, train'd by the gray epicure, his sire, 



A. D. 38-119.] JUVENAL. 595 

Has learii'd to pickle mushrooms, and, like him, 

To souse the beccaficos, 1 till they swim ! 

For take him thus to early luxury bred, 

Ere twice four springs have blossom'd o'er his head, 

And let ten thousand teachers, hoar with age, 

Inculcate temperance from the stoic page ; 

His wish will ever be in state to dine, 

And keep his kitchen's honor from decline ! 

* * -K- * * * 

So Nature prompts ; drawn by her secret tie, 
We view a parent's deeds with reverent eye ; 
With fatal haste, alas ! the example take, 
And love the sin for the dear sinner's sake. 
One youth, perhaps, form'd of superior clay, 
And warm'd by Titan with a purer ray, 
May dare to slight proximity of blood, 
And, in despite of Nature, to be good : 
One youth — the rest the beaten pathway tread, 
And blindly follow where their fathers led. 
fatal guides ! this reason should suffice, 
To win you from the slippery route of vice, 
This powerful reason ; lest your sons pursue 
The guilty track, thus plainly mark'd by you ! 
For youth is facile, and its yielding will 
Receives with fatal ease the imprint of ill : 
Hence Catilines in every clime abound ; 
But where are Cato and his nephew found ? 

Swift from the roof where youth, Fuscinus, dwell, 
Immodest sights, immodest sounds, expel ; 
The place is sacred : Far, far hence, remove, 
Ye venal votaries of illicit love ! 
Ye dangerous knaves, who pander to be fed, 
And sell yourselves to infamy for bread, 
Reverence to children, as to Heaven, is due : 
When you would, then, some darling sin pursue, 
Think that your infant offspring eyes the deed, 
And let the thought abate your guilty speed : 
Back from the headlong steep your steps entice, 
And check you, tottering on the verge of vice. 
O yet reflect ! for should he e'er provoke, 
In riper age the law's avenging stroke, 
(Since not alone in person and in face, 
But e'en in morals he will prove his race, 
And, while example acts with fatal force, 
Side, nay, outstrip you, in the vicious course) 
Vex'd, you will rave and storm : perhaps prepare, 
Should threat'ning fail, to name another heir ! 
— Audacious ! with what front do you aspire 
To exercise the license of a sire, 

1 Literally a "fig-pecker" — a small bird, like the nightingale, that feeds 
on figs and grapes. 



596 JUVENAL. [A. D. 38-119. 

When all with, rising indignation view 
The youth in turpitude surpass'd by you ? 

Is there a guest expected ? all is haste, 
All hurry in the house, from first to last. 
" Sweep the dry cobwebs down!" the master cries, 
Whips in his hand, and fury in his eyes — 
" Let not a spot the clouded columns stain ; 
Scour you the figur'd silver, you the plain !" 

0, inconsistent wretch ! is all this coil, 
Lest the front hall or gallery, daub'd with soil, 
(Which yet a little sand removes), offend 
The prying eye of some indifferent friend ? 
And do you stir not, that your son may see 
The house from moral filth, from vices free ? 

True, you have given a citizen to Rome ; 
And she shall thank you, if the youth become, 
By your o'er-ruling care, or soon, or late, 
A useful member of the parent state : 
For all depends on you ; the stamp he'll take 
From the strong impress which at first you make ; 
And prove, as vice or virtue was your aim, 
His country's glory, or his country's shame. 

* * * * •* * 

But youth, so prone to follow other ills, 
And driven to avakice, against their wills, 
For this grave vice assuming Virtue's guise, 
Seems Virtue's self to undiscerning eyes. 
The miser, hence, a frugal man they name, 
And hence they follow with their whole acclaim, 
The griping wretch, who strictlier guards his store, 
Than if the Hesperian dragon kept the door. 
Add that the vulgar, still a slave to gold, 
"The worthy, in the wealthy man behold ; 
And, reasoning from the fortune he has made, 
Hail him a perfect master of his trade! 
And true, indeed, it is — such masters raise 
Immense estates ; no matter by what ways ; 
But raise they do, with brows in sweat still dyed, 
With forge still glowing, and with sledge still plied. 
The father, by the love of wealth possest, 
Convinced — the covetous alone are blest, 
And that, nor past, nor present times, e'er knew 
A poor man happy — bids his son pursue 
The paths they take, the courses they affect, 
And follow, at the heels, this thriving sect. 
But why this dire avidity of gain ? 
This mass collected with such toil and pain ? 
Since 'tis the veriest madness to live poor, 
And die with bags and coffers running o'er. 
Besides, while thus the streams of affluence roll, 
They nurse the eternal dropsy of the soul. 



A. D. 38-119.] JUVENAL. 591 

For thirst of wealth still grows with wealth increast, 
And they desire it less, who have it least. 

None sin by rule : none heed the charge precise, 
Thus, and no further, mat ye step in vice ; 
But leap the bounds prescribed, and with free pace, 
Scour far and wide the interdicted space ; 
So when you tell the youth that fools alone 
Regard a friend's distresses as their own, 
You bid the willing hearer riches raise, 
By fraud, by rapine, by the worst of ways ; 
Riches, whose love is on your soul imprest, 
Deep as their country's on the Decii's breast. 
But mark the end ! the fire, deriv'd at first 
From a small sparkle, by your folly nurs'd, 
Blown to a flame, on all around it preys, 
And wraps you in the universal blaze. 
So the young lion rent, with hideous roar, 
His keeper's trembling limbs, and drank his gore. 
•5f * * •* ■* . * 

See every harbor throng'd, and every bay, 
And half mankind upon the watery way ! 
For, where he hears the attractive voice of gain, 
The merchant hurries, and defies the main. 
Nor will he only range the Libyan shore, 
But, passing Calpe, other worlds explore ; 
And all for what? glorious end ! to come, 
His toils o'erpast, with purse replenished, home, 
And, with a traveller's privilege, vent his boasts 
Of unknown monsters seen on unknown coasts. 

Wealth by such dangers earn'd, such anxious pain, 

Requires more care to keep it than to gain : 

Whate'er my miseries, make me not, kind Fate, 

The sleepless Argus of a vast estate ! 

The slaves of Licinus, a numerous band, 

Watch through the night, with buckets in their hand, 

While their rich master trembling lies, afraid 

Lest fire his ivory, amber, gold, invade. 

The naked Cynic mocks such restless cares, 

His earthen tub no conflagration fears ; 

If crack'd, to-morrow he procures a new, 

Or coarsely soldering, makes the old one do. 

Even Philip's son, when in his little cell, 

Content, he saw the mighty master dwell ; 

Own'd, with a sigh, that he who naught desired, 

Was happier far than he who worlds required, 

And whose ambition certain dangers brought, 

Vast and unbounded as the object sought. 

Fortune, advanced to heaven by fools alone, 

Would lose, were wisdom ours, her shadowy throne. 



598 AULUS gellius. [a. d. 117-180. 

" What call I, then, enough ?" What will afford 
A decent habit, and a frugal board ; — 
What Epicurus' little garden bore, 
And Socrates sufficient thought before : 
These squared by Nature's rules their blameless life — 
Nature and wisdom never are at strife. 

Gifford. 



AULUS GELLIUS. 
A. d. 117—180. 

Aulus Gellius was probably a native of Rome, and nourished in the 
reign of Antoninus Pius. Of his private history we know but little, 
except what we gain from his own book : from which it appears that 
he had travelled much, especially in Greece, and had resided for some 
time at Athens, where he studied rhetoric and philosophy under the 
best masters. On his return to Rome, he devoted his time to his 
favorite pursuits and to judicial duties, having been appointed Praetor. 
The date of his death is not known with certainty, but it was probably 
the last year of the reign of Marcus Aurelius. 

Aulus Gellius is known to us especially by his work, entitled Nodes 
Atticse, "Attic Nights," so called because the greater part of it was 
composed in a country house near Athens, during the long nights of 
winter. It consists of a number of extracts which the author had 
made in the perusal of the Greek and Latin authors, together with 
reflections upon a great variety of topics connected with history, anti- 
quity, philosophy, and philology, interspersed with original remarks, 
dissertations, and discussions, the whole being thrown together into 
twenty books, without any attempt at order or arrangement : and 
with the exception of the eighth book, the whole has come down to 
us. It is a work of no little value, as it furnishes us with many 
curious facts respecting the language, history, and antiquities of the 
ancients, as well as with numerous fragments of earlier writers now 
entirely lost, elucidating questions which must otherwise have re- 
mained obscure. His style has been too highly commended by some, 
and decried by others. It is frequently careless, and displays a fond- 
ness for a peculiar species of affectation — the frequent introduction of 
obsolete words and phrases derived for the most part from the ancient 
comic dramatists. 1 

1 Editions : Gronovius, Lug. Bat., 1706, quarto, reprinted, with some 
dissertations, by Conradi, Leipsic, 1762. An excellent translation in English 
is by Rev. William Beloe, three volumes 8vo., London, 1795. 



A. D. 117-180.] AULUS GELLIUS. 599 



THE HUMBLE ORIGIN OF GREAT MEN. 

Phsedon of Elis 1 was of the Socratic school, and very inti- 
mate both with Socrates and Plato. Plato prefixed this man's 
name to his divine book on the Immortality of the Soul. This 
Phaedon was a slave, but of an elegant form and liberal under- 
standing; and, as some have written, was, when a boy, sold 
by his profligate master. Cebes, a follower of Socrates, is said 
to have bought him on the recommendation of Socrates, and 
to have initiated him in the discipline of philosophy. He be- 
came afterwards an eminent philosopher ; and there remain of 
his some very elegant discourses concerning Socrates. There 
have been many others who, from a state of servitude, have 
afterwards become distinguished philosophers. Amongst these 
was that Menippus, whose writings M. Yarro imitated in his 
satires, by others called Cynic, by himself Menippean. Pom- 
pylus, 2 the slave of Theophrastus the Peripatetic; and he who 
was named the Persian, the slave of Zeno the Stoic ; and Mys, 
the slave of Epicurus, were also philosophers of no mean repu- 
tation. Diogenes the Cynic lived also in servitude ; but he, 
from a state of liberty, was sold as a slave. Xeniades of Co- 
rinth, desiring to purchase him, asked him what art he knew? 
"The art," he replied, "of governing free men." Xeniades, 
in admiration at his answer, bought and gave him his freedom ; 
then, introducing his sons to him, "Take," says he, "these my 
children, who are free, and govern them." But the memory 
of Epictetus, the illustrious philosopher, that he also was a 
slave, is too recent to be mentioned as a thing obsolete. Two 
verses are said to have been written by this Epictetus 3 upon 

1 Of this personage Diogenes Laertius relates, that he was born of a noble 
family; but being taken captive, was thus sold as a slave. The same author 
adds, that Alcibiades or Crito, at the suggestion of Socrates, restored him 
to liberty. 

2 This name is generally written Pompilius, mentioned by Laertius in his 
life of Theophrastus. 

3 I may here remark, that the professors of philosophy and literature, so 
understood and called, have, with few exceptions, in all ages, been remark- 
able for their poverty. We ought, however, to make this distinction with 
respect to the learned men of ancient and modern times : the poverty of the 
ancient philosophers was voluntary, and often pressed upon public notice 
with a ridiculous degree of affectation ; they were, however, amply compen- 
sated for this poverty, by the personal honors and reverence they received, 
being assiduously courted by the opulent, the powerful, and the great. This 
is not quite the case, I apprehend, in modern times. These honors and this 
reverence are reserved by just posterity, till the objects of it are no more ; 



600 ATJLUS GELLITJS. [A. D. 11T-180. 

himself, in which it is tacitly implied, that they who, in this 
life, have to struggle with various calamities, are not indis- 
criminately obnoxious to the gods ; but that there are certain 
mysterious causes, which the investigation of few can compre- 
hend: "I, Epictetus, born a slave, and lame, and poor as Irus, 
am dear to the gods." 



HE ONLY SUCCEEDS WHO HELPS HIMSELF. 

iEsop, the fabulist of Phrygia, has justly been reckoned a 
wise man. He communicated his salutary admonitions, not, 
as is the custom of philosophers, with a severity of manners 
and the imperiousness of command; but by his agreeable and 
facetious apologues having a wise and salutary tendency, he 
impressed the minds and understandings of his hearers, by 
captivating their attention. His fable, which follows, of the 
bird's nest, teaches with the most agreeable humor that hope 
and confidence, with respect to those things which a man can 
accomplish, should be placed not in another but in himself. 

"There is a little bird," says he, "called a lark; it lives and 
builds its nest amongst the corn, and its young are generally 
fledged about the time of the approach of harvest. A lark 
happened to build among some early corn, which therefore was 
growing ripe when the young ones were yet unable to fly. 
When the mother went abroad to seek food for her young, she 
charged them to take notice if any unusual thing should hap- 
pen or be said, and to inform her when she returned. The 
master of the corn calls his son, a youth, and says, 'You see 
that this corn has grown ripe, and requires our labor ; to-mor- 
row, therefore, as soon as it shall be light, go to our friends, 
desire them to come and assist us in getting in our harvest' 
When he had said this, he departed. When the lark returned, 
the trembling young ones began to make a noise round their 
mother, and to entreat her to hasten away, and remove them 
to some other place; 'for the master,' say they, 'has sent to 
ask his friends to come to-morrow morning and reap.' The 
mother desires them to be at ease; 'for if the master,' says she, 
'refers the reaping to his friends, it will not take place to- 
morrow, nor is it necessary for me to remove you to-day.' The 
next day, the mother flies away for food: the master waits for 

and many there have heen who, like Otway and Savage, were suffered to lan- 
guish out a miserable life in want, whose talents are universally allowed to 
have improved and adorned their country. 



A. D. 117-180.] AULUS GELLIUS. 601 

his friends; the sun rages, and nothing is done; no friends 
came. Then he says a second time to his son : 'These friends,' 
says he, 'are very tardy indeed. Let us rather go and invite 
our relations and neighbors, and desire them to come early to- 
morrow and reap.' The affrighted young tell this to their 
mother: she again desires them not to be at all anxious or 
alarmed. 'There are no relations so obsequious as to comply 
instantly with such requests, and undertake labor without hesi- 
tation. But do you observe if anything shall be said again.' 
The next morning comes, and the bird goes to seek food. The 
relations and neighbors omit to give the assistance required of 
them. At length the master says to his son, ' Farewell to our 
friends and relations; bring two sickles at the dawn of day; I 
will take one, and you the other, and to-morrow we will reap 
the corn with our own hands.' When the mother heard from 
her young ones, that the master had said this: 'The time is 
now come,' says she, 'for us to go away; now what he says 
will undoubtedly be done; for he rests upon himself, whose 
business it is, and not on another, who is requested to do it.' 
The lark then removed her nest; and the corn was cut down by 
the master." This is the fable of JEsop concerning confidence 
in friends and relations, which is generally vain and deceitful. 
But what else do the more sententious books of philosophers 
recommend, than that we should make exertions^for ourselves, 
nor consider as ours, nor at all belonging to us, what is external 
with respect to ourselves and our minds? Quintus Ennius has 
given this apologue of JEsop in his Satires, with great skill and 
beauty, in tetrameters. The two last, I think, it is well worth 
while to have impressed on the heart and memory. 

" Always have in mind this sentiment, — Expect not from 
your friends what you can do yourself." 



WHAT LED PROTAGORAS TO PHILOSOPHY. 

They say that Protagoras, a man eminent in his pursuits of 
learning, with whose name Plato has inscribed his celebrated 
tract, 1 when a young man hired himself out to procure a live- 
lihood, and was accustomed to carry burdens, which sort of 
men the Greek call a%do$opoi, and we in Latin bajali. He was 

1 "Protagoras, or the Sophist." This anecdote is related by Plato, by- 
Plutarch, and by Diogenes Laertius; but, as (rronovius remarks, by none so 
fully as by Aulus G-ellius. 

51 



602 ATJLTJS GELLIUS. [A. D. 11T-180. 

once carrying from the adjoining fields to Abdera, of which he 
was an inhabitant, a number of sticks secured together by a 
short rope. It happened that Democritus, a citizen of the 
same place, a man very highly respected for his virtue and 
philosophic attainments,, as he was walking without the city 
saw him with this burden, which was inconvenient to carry and 
hold together, walking with ease, and at a quick pace. He 
came near him, and contemplated the wood, which was put 
together and secured with great skill and judgment. He then 
asked him to rest a little; with which request, when Protagoras 
complied, Democritus observed of this heap, and, as it were, 
mass of wood, that it was secured by a small rope, and adjusted 
and poised with a certain mathematical nicety : he inquired, 
who thus disposed the wood ; the other replied, that he had. 
He was then desired to undo it, and place it a second time in 
the same form; whieh, when he had done, and put it a second 
time together, Democritus, wondering at the acuteness and the 
skill of an unlearned man, " Young man," says he, "as you 
have a genius for doing well, there are greater and better 
things which you may do with me." He instantly took him 
away, and retained him at his house ; maintained him, instructed 
him in philosophy, and made him what he afterwards became. 



PHILIP AND ALEXANDER. 

Philip, son of Amyntas, king of Macedonia, by whose valor 
and exertions the Macedonians, increasing their opulence and 
dominions, began to have sovereignty over various nations, and 
whose power and arms the celebrated orations of Demosthenes 
declare to have been formidable to the whole of Greece; this 
Philip, though at all times occupied and exercised in the toils 
and triumphs of war, never neglected the liberal pursuits of 
literature, and the studies of humanity. He did and uttered 
many things with equal facetiousness and urbanity. There are 
said to have been volumes of his letters full of elegance, grace, 
and wisdom: such is that in which he related to Aristotle the 
philosopher the birth of his son Alexander. This letter, as it 
seems to be an inducement for care and diligence in the edu- 
cation of children, I have thought proper to transcribe, that it 
may impress the minds of parents. It may be interpreted nearly 
in this manner : — 

"Philip sends health to Aristotle — Know that a son is born 
to me ; I therefore thank the gods, not so much because he is 



A. D. 111-180.] AULUS GELL1US. 603 

born, but that he happened to be born during your life — I 
hope that, being instructed and brought up by you, he may 
prove worthy both of me and the conduct of affairs." 



MEANING OP THE LATIN WORD " HUM ANITAS." 

They who are accustomed to observe the proprieties of the 
Latin language do not interpret the word "humanitas" accord- 
ing to the common acceptation, and as the Greeks call it 
$t,%avdpa7tia, " philanthropy," signifying a certain ready benevo- 
lence indiscriminately exercised toward all men ; but they con- 
sider humanity to be what the Greeks called rtcuSetav (paideian), 
"learning," and what we term instruction and initiation in the 
liberal arts, which they who earnestly follow and obtain, may 
be said to be most humanized. For the pursuit and discipline 
of science is given to man only of all the animals, therefore it 
is called " humanitas." And in this sense almost all books 
show that the ancients used this word, and particularly Marcus 
Yarro, and Marcus Tullius. 



A PHILOSOPHER'S ANSWER TO A RICH MAN. 

In our way from Cassiopia 1 to Brundusium we passed through 
the Ionian, a sea violent, vast, and agitated with storms. Dur- 
ing the whole first night of our voyage a very stormy side wind 
filled our vessel with water. At length, after much complain- 
ing, and sufficient employment at the pump, daylight appeared, 
but brought no diminution of our danger, nor cessation of the 
storm ; but the whirlwinds seemed increasing, and the black 
sky, and the balls of fire, and the clouds, forming themselves 
into frightful shapes (which they called "Typhons"), appeared 
hanging over us ready to overwhelm the ship. In the company 
was a celebrated philosopher of the stoic school, whom I had 
known at Athens, a man of some consequence, and rather dis- 
tinguished for the good order in which he kept his pupils. 
Amidst all these dangers, and this tumult of sea and sky, I 
watched this man attentively, anxious to know the state of his 
mind, whether he was dauntless and unalarmed. I observed 
that he expressed no fear nor apprehensions, uttered no com- 
plaints like the rest, nor gave into their way of exclaiming; 

1 Called also Cassope, a town on the coast of Epirus. 



G04 justin. [a. d. 200. 

but in paleness and terror of countenance he differed but little 
from his neighbors. When the sky grew clear, and the sea 
became calm, a certain rich Greek from Asia approached the 
stoic ; his wealth was proved from his expensive appearance, 
his quantity of baggage, and his train of attendants. "What 
is the reason" (said he, in a bantering humor) "that when we 
were in danger, you, who are a philosopher, were afraid, and 
looked pale, while I was neither afraid nor pale?" The phi- 
losopher, doubting a little whether it was worth while to make 
any answer : "If (said he) in so violent a storm, I did discover 
a. little fear, you are not worthy of being told the reason ; but 
that follower of Aristippus shall give you an answer for me, 
who, upon a similar occasion, being asked by a man much like 
yourself, why, as a philosopher, he was afraid, while he feared 
nothing, replied, that there was not the same cause for fear in 
one as the other, for the preservation of a worthless coxcomb 
was not an object worthy of much anxiety, but that he was 
concerned for the safety of an Aristippus." With this reply 
the stoic got rid of the rich Asiatic. 



JUSTIN. 

FLOUKISHED ABOUT A. D. 200. 

Of the life of the historian M. Junianus Justinus, we know very 
little, and are even uncertain as to the period when he flourished. 
He wrote an abridgment of the Universal History of Trogus Poni- 
peius,' or what might rather be called a collection of elegant extracts 
from that work, without much chronological order. His style is easy 
aud perspicuous, and the work is not only highly entertaining in 
character, but has preserved from oblivion many facts not elsewhere 
recorded. 2 

1 The work of Trogus. extending from the reign of the founder of the 
Assyrian empire, iNinus, to the reign of Augustus, is now lost. It was com- 
prised in forty-four books, and entitled Liber Historiarum Philippicarum, 
because its chief object was to give an account of the origin, progress, and 
decline of the Macedonian monarchy ; but he indulged in so many excur- 
sions, that he embraced a very wide field of investigation ; though his work 
by no means deserves the title of Universal History. 

' The best edition of Justin is that of Gronovius, reprinted and edited by 
Frotcher, Leipsic. 3 vols. 8vo., 1827. The translations in English are by 
Codrington. Bayley, Clarke (London, 1732), Turnbull (London, 1846), most 
of which have passed through several editions. 



A. D. 200.] JUSTIN. 605 



COMPARISON OF PHILIP AND ALEXANDER. 

Philip took more pains and had more pleasure in the pre- 
paration of a battle than in the arrangement of a feast. Money 
was with him only a sinew of war. He knew better how to 
acquire riches, than how to preserve them ; and living on 
plunder, was always poor. It cost him no more to pardon 
than to deceive. His conversation was sweet and alluring. 
He was prodigal of promises, which he did not keep : and 
whether he were serious or gay, he had always a design at the 
bottom. His constant maxim was, to caress those whom he 
hated, to instigate quarrels between those who loved him, and 
separately to flatter each party, whom he had alienated from 
the other. He was possessed of eloquence, had a ready appre- 
hension, and a graceful delivery. He had for his successor his 
son Alexander, who had greater virtues and greater vices than 
himself. Both triumphed over their enemies, although by 
different means. The one employed open force only ; the 
other had recourse to artifice. -The one congratulated himself, 
when he had deceived his enemies, the other when he had con- 
quered them. Philip had more policy, Alexander more dignity. 
The father knew how to dissemble his rage, and sometimes to 
conquer it ; the son in his vengeance knew neither delay nor 
bounds. Both loved wine too well ; but drunkenness, which 
opens the heart, produced different effects in them. Philip, in 
going from a feast, went to seek for danger, and exposed him- 
self with temerity ; Alexander turned his rage against the 
associates of his rivalry. The one often returned from battle, 
covered with wounds, received from his enemies ; the other 
rose from table, defiled with the blood of his friends. The 
father wished to be loved ; the son desired only to be feared. 
Both cultivated letters, the former through policy, the latter 
through taste. The one affected more moderation to his ene- 
mies, the other had in reality more clemency and good faith. 
It was with these different qualities that the father laid the 
foundation of the empire of the world, and that the son had 
the glory of completing the illustrious achievement. 

ATHENS AFTER THE DEFEAT AT iEGOS POTAMOS. 

When the news of the defeat was understood at Athens, the 
inhabitants, leaving their houses, ran up and down the streets 

51* 



606 justin. [a. d. 200. 

in a frantic manner, asking questions of one another, and in- 
quiring for the author of the news. Xeither did incapacity 
keep the children at home, nor infirmity the old men, nor the 
weakness of their sex the women : so deeply had the feeling 
of such calamity affected every age. They met together in the 
forum, where, through the whole night, they bewailed the 
public distress. Some wept for their lost brothers, or sons, or 
parents ; some for other relatives ; others for friends dearer 
than relatives ; all mingling their lamentations for their coun- 
try with plaints for their private sufferings; sometimes regard- 
ing themselves, sometimes their city, as on the brink of ruin ; 
and deeming the fate of those who survived more unhappy 
than that of the slain. Each represented to himself a siege, a 
famine, and an enemy overbearing and flushed with victory ; 
sometimes contemplating in imagination the desolation and 
burning of the city, and sometimes the captivity and wretched 
slavery of all its inhabitants ; and thinking the former destruc- 
tion of Athens, which was attended only with the ruin of their 
houses, while their children and parents were safe, much less 
calamitous than what was now to befall them ; since there re- 
mained no fleet in which, as before, they might find a refuge, 
and no army by whose valor they might be saved to erect a 
finer city. 

While the city was thus wept over and almost brought to 
nothing, the enemy came upon it, pressed the inhabitants with 
a siege, and distressed them with famine. They knew that 
little remained of the provisions which they had laid up, and 
had taken care that no new ones should be imported. The 
Athenians, exhausted by their sufferings, from long endurance 
of famine, and daily losses of men, sued for peace ; but it was 
long disputed between the Spartans and their allies whether it 
should be granted or not. Many gave their opinion that the 
very name of the Athenians should be blotted out, and the city 
destroyed by fire ; but the Spartans refused " to pluck out one 
of the two eyes of Greece," and promised the Athenians peace, 
on condition "that they should demolish the walls extending 
down to the Piraeus, and deliver up the ships which they had 
left ; and that the state should receive from them thirty go- 
vernors of their own citizens." The city being surrendered on 
these terms, the Lacedaemonians committed it to Lysander to 
model the government of it. This year was rendered remark- 
able, not only for the reduction of Athens, but for the death 
of Darius, king of Persia, and the banishment of Dionysius, 
tyrant of Sicily. 



A. D. 200.] JUSTIN. 607 



PYTHAGORAS. 

This philosopher was born at Samos, the son of Demaratus, 
a rich merchant, and after being greatly advanced in wisdom, 
went first to Egypt, and afterwards to Babylon, to learn the 
motions of the stars and study the origin of the universe, and 
acquired very great knowledge. Returning from thence, he 
went to Crete and Lacedaenion, to instruct himself in the laws 
of Minos and Lycurgus, which at that time were in high re- 
pute. Furnished with all these attainments, he came to Crotona, 
and, by his influence, recalled the people, when they were giving 
themselves up to luxury, to the observance of frugality. He 
used daily to recommend virtue, and to enumerate the ill effects 
of luxury, and the misfortunes of states that had been ruined 
by its pestilential influence ; and he thus produced in the 
people such a love of temperance, that it was at length thought 
incredible that any of them should be extravagant. He fre- 
quently gave instruction to the women apart from the men, 
and to the children apart from their parents. He impressed 
on the female sex the observance of chastity, and submission 
to their husbands ; on the rising generation, modesty and 
devotion to learning. Through his whole course of instruction 
he exhorted all to love temperance, as the mother of every 
virtue ; and he produced such an effect upon them by the con- 
stancy of his lectures, that the women laid aside their vestments 
embroidered with gold, and other ornaments and distinctions, 
as instruments of luxury, and, bringing them into the temple 
of Juno, consecrated them to the goddess, declaring that mo- 
desty, and not fine apparel, was the true adornment of their sex. 

Pythagoras, after living twenty years at Crotona, removed 
to Metapontum, where he died ; and such was the admiration 
of the people for his character, that they made a temple of his 
house, and worshipped him as a god. 



608 BOETHIUS. [A. D. 412-526. 



BOETHIUS. 
A. d. 472—526. 

Boethius, whose full name was Anicius Manlius Severinus Boethius, 
a Roman statesman, prose writer, and poet, was descended from one 
of the noblest families of Rome, and was born about A. D. 472. He 
very. early evinced fine parts, and great attention was paid to his 
education. To enrich his mind with the study of philosophy, and at 
the same time to perfect him in the Greek language, he was sent to 
Athens. Returning young to Rome, he was soon distinguished for 
his learning and virtue, promoted to the principal dignities in the 
state, and at length raised to the consulship. Living in great affluence 
and splendor, he devoted himself to the study of theology, mathe- 
matics, ethics, and logic ; and how great a master he became in each 
of these branches of learning, appears from such of his works as are 
now extant. The great offices which he held in the state, and his 
consummate wisdom and inflexible integrity, procured him a share in 
the public councils. But these in the end proved his destruction ; 
for when he was absent from the city, some of "the baser sort" of the 
court of the emperor Theodoric, fearing that he would expose their 
wickedness, and hating him as the bad always hate the good, brought 
against him the charge of endeavoring to overthrow the government 
of Theodoric. A sentence of confiscation and death was passed upon 
him unheard, and he was imprisoned at Ticinum, where, about two 
years after, he was beheaded on the 23d of October, A. D. 526. His 
body was interred by the inhabitants of Pavia, in the church of St. 
Augustine, near the steps of the chancel, where his monument existed 
till the last century, when that church was destroyed. Theodoric, 
who did not long survive Boethius, is said in his last hours to have 
repented of his cruelty. 

Boethius occupied a sort of middle position in the general history 
and literature of the world. Being the last Roman of any note who 
understood the language and studied the literature of Greece, and 
living on the boundary of the ancient and the modern world, he is one 
of the most important links between them. Hence for six or eight 
hundred years, through the middle ages, he was looked upon as the 
head and type of all philosophers, and was invested with a distinctly 
Christian character, to which he had hardly any claim. But his 
extensive learning and great eloquence are manifested in his works — 
upon philosophy, rhetoric, music, arithmetic, geometry, and metaphy- 



A. D. 472-526.] BOETHIUS. 609 

sical and theological subjects. A beautiful edition of these, collected 
with great care, was printed in Venice, in one handsome folio, in 
1499. 

The most celebrated production of Boethius is his De Consolatione 
Philosophise, "On the Consolation of Philosophy," which was written 
during his imprisonment. It is an imaginary conversation between 
the author and Philosophy personified, who endeavors to console and 
soothe him in his afflictions. The topics of consolation in the work 
are deduced from the tenets of Plato, Zeno, and Aristotle, but without 
any notice of the sources of consolation which are peculiar to the Chris- 
tian system ; from which circumstance many have been led to think him 
more of a Stoic than a Christian. A sort of Christian interpretation 
was, however, given to it during the middle ages, and during all those 
centuries few books were more popular than this treatise, and few 
have passed through a greater number of editions in most of the lan- 
guages of Europe. An additional interest is given to it from the fact 
that it was translated into Saxon by King Alfred, when the distressed 
situation of his kingdom by the invasion of the Danes caused him to 
seek retirement ; and that Queen Elizabeth, during the time of her 
confinement by her sister Mary, sought to mitigate her grief by read- 
ing it, and afterwards translating it into English. 



HAPPINESS CONSISTS NOT IN THE GIFTS OP FORTUNE. 

To be fully convinced that happiness consists not in things 
which are in the power of fortune, attend to the following rea- 
soning : If happiness is the chief good of a reasonable being, 
that cannot be his chief good, which is in its nature fluctuating, 
and of which he may be deprived ; for there is some good more 
excellent than this transitory felicit}', namely, what is perma- 
nent, and which cannot be taken away : it is therefore evident, 
that fortune, the most variable thing in the world, cannot be- 
stow the sovereign good upon mankind. Besides, whoever is 
captivated with the favors of the capricious dame, either knows, 
or does not know her inconstancy. If he does not know it, 
what happiness can a person enjoy, who is immersed in the 
grossest ignorance ? If he knows it, he must be afraid of losing 
her gifts, as he is sure they may be lost ; and the fear of this 
will keep him in constant terror, and bereave him of repose. 
But perhaps he may think the favors of fortune despicable, and 
if he should be deprived of them, unworthy of his concern : if 
this is the case, it must be a very inconsiderable good, the loss 



610 boethius. [a. d. 472-526. 

whereof can be supported without regret. Bat as I am satisfied 
that you are convinced of the soul's immortality, by a number 
of incontestable proofs ; and since it is evident that the felicity 
of the body ends with life, 1 it unquestionably follows, that when 
men lose this felicity, they must be plunged in misery. Never- 
theless, as we know that many of the human race have sought 
the enjoyment of happiness, not only by death, but by suffer- 
ings and torments; how can this present life make men happy, 
since, when finished, it does not make them miserable? 



HAPPINESS NOT FOUND IN POWER OR HONORS. 

Why should I discourse of power and of honors, which, 
though you are ignorant of true honor and of real power, you 
extol to the skies ? When these favors of fortune fall to the 
share of an abandoned profligate, what flaming eruptions of 
Etna, what impetuous deluge did ever produce greater calami- 
ties? No doubt you have heard that your ancestors formed a 
design to abolish the consular government (though with the 
consulship their liberty commenced), on account of the inso- 
lence of these magistrates ; as they formerly suppressed the 
title and office of king, because of the tyranny of their monarchs. 
But if sometimes, though seldom, it happens, that honors are 
conferred upon men of worth ; is there anything estimable in 
them, but the probity of the persons invested with them ? 
Hence it is, that virtue is not embellished by dignities, but on 
the contrary, dignities derive all their lustre from virtue. But 
in what respects, I pray you, is power so excellent and so de- 
sirable? Do but consider, ye weak and despicable animals! 
what they are, over whom you appear to exercise authority, 
and what you are, who thus seem to govern ? If you observed 
a mouse assuming command over her equals, would not you be 
ready to burst with laughter? But what is there in nature so 
weak as the human frame? The bite of an insect, the most 
inconsiderable reptile insinuating itself into the human pores, 
may be the cause of death. But how can any man obtain 
dominion over another, unless it be over his body, or what is 
inferior to his body, I mean, his possessions? Can you ever 
command a free-born soul? Can you ever disturb the tran- 
quillity of a mind collected in itself, and resolutely exerting its 

1 If the happiness of man consists only in the felicity of the hody, and a 
period is put to this felicity hy death j man, if he continues afterwards to 
exist, must necessarily he miserable. 



A. D. 412-526.] BOETHIUS. 611 

powers? An imperious prince imagining he might, by tor- 
tures, extort a confession of his accomplices in a conspiracy, 
from a person of determined spirit, 1 the undaunted man bit off 
his tongue, and spit it in the face of his enraged enemy: thus 
did he at once disappoint the views of the tyrant, and render 
the cruelties prepared for him, matter of triumph to his own 
heroic virtue. Besides, what is it that one man can do to 
another, which may not be retaliated upon the aggressor? 
Busiris, 2 who we are told was wont to kill his guests, was him- 
self slaughtered by Hercules his guest. Regulus 3 put in chains 
many prisoners of war, whom he took from the Carthaginians; 
but he was soon after obliged to submit to the chains of his 
victorious enemies. Is the power then of that man, do you 
think, of any importance, who dares not inflict what he intends 
upon another, lest his intended severities may be requited upon 
himself? Besides, I would have you to reflect, that if there 
were anything really and intrinsically good in power and 
honors, they could never devolve upon the wicked; for an 
union of things that are opposite, is repugnant to nature. But 
as we frequently see the worst men obtaining the highest 
honors; it is evident that honors are not in themselves good, 
otherwise they would not fall to the share of the unworthy. 
The same holds true, with regard to all the gifts of fortune, 
which are commonly showered down in profusion upon the 
least deserving. We ought here also to consider, that as none 
doubts of the strength of a man, who has given instances of 
his strength, nor of his swiftness who runs well ; in like man- 
ner it is admitted that the knowledge of music makes a musi- 
cian, of medicine a physician, and of rhetoric a rhetorician. 
For the nature of a thing consists in doing what is peculiar to 
itself, in not mixing its effects with things of opposite qualities, 
and in voluntarily repelling what is repugnant or hurtful to it. 
Now, we never see riehes satisfy the restless eravings of ava- 
rice, nor power render master of himself the man whose oppro- 
brious vices keep him bound in indissoluble chains; neither do 
we perceive that when honors are conferred on the unworthy, 
they are thereby rendered men of worth : on the contrary, dig- 

1 The person here spoken of was probably Zeno, inventor of logie, and 
the tyrant alluded to, Nearchus of Elea, against whom Zeno had formed a 
conspiracy. 

2 Busiris, king of Egypt, a cruel tyrant, is said to have been the son of 
Neptune and of Libya. He used to sacrifice strangers to Jupiter; but whilst 
he was preparing to put Hercules to death in this manner, Hercules overcame 
him, and sacrificed both him and his son to Jupiter upon the same altar. 

3 The history of Regulus,, the famous Roman consul, is universally known. 



612 boethius. [a. d. 412-526. 

nities serve only to betray them, and to expose their want of 
merit. But for what reason does all this happen ? 'Tis be- 
cause you take & pleasure in giving false names to things ; 
names contrary to their natures, and inconsistent with their 
effects : thus you dignify riches, power, and honors with names 
they have no title to. In fine, we may say the same of all the 
favors of fortune : we may truly conclude, that she has nothing 
to bestow that is really desirable, nothing that is naturally good ; 
that she is not inseparably attached to men of merit, and that 
she does not render virtuous those to whom she adheres. 



ADVERSE FORTUNE OFTEN PROFITABLE. 1 

Do not, however, believe, continued Philosophy, that I am 
an implacable enemy to Fortune, and delight to wage perpetual 
war with her. I grant you, that this inconstant dame some- 
times deserves well of mankind ; I mean when she discovers 
herself to them ; when she unveils her countenance and displays 
her manners. Perhaps you do not understand me. What I 
want to teach you is indeed so surprising, that I am at a loss 
to find words to express myself. I say that adverse Fortune 
is in reality more beneficial to mankind than prosperous For- 
tune. The latter, while she fondly throws forth her caresses, 
and would fain persuade us that happiness resides only with 
her, is quite the reverse of what she appears : the former ap- 
pears what she really is, displaying by her vicissitudes her 
natural inconstancy. The one deceives ; the other instructs. 
This, by a fallacious show of good, deludes and enslaves the 
mind ; that, by discovering the fluctuating nature of human 
happiness, enlarges and restores it to its native freedom. The 
one we behold blown up with vanity, light, wavering, and in- 
capable of reflection ; whilst the aspect of the other is humble, 
patient, and wise with her experience in the school of affliction. 
In fine, prosperous Fortune, by her blandishments, leads men 
astray from the true good ; but on the other hand, adverse 
Fortune, by her rigors, teaches them wherein real happiness 
consists, and conducts them to it. Let me now ask you this 
one question : Is it an inconsiderable service that this latter 
has done you, vexatious and odious as you think her, in put- 

1 Sweet are the uses of adversity, 
Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, 
Weai"s yet a precious jewel in his head. 

As You Like It. Act ii. Scene i. 



a. d. 4T2-526.] boethius. 613 

ting the fidelity of your friends to a trial ? She has separated 
the true from the false: by her departure she has carried off 
hers, and left yours. At what price would not you have pur- 
chased such a service, when you were at the height of your 
imaginary felicity ! Forbear then to deplore the wealth you 
have lost, as you have found riches of infinitely greater value — 
your friends. 



CONFIDENCE IN GOD. 

Upon the whole, then, it must be concluded, that the freedom 
of the human will remains unconstrained and inviolable; and 
that those laws cannot be considered as unjust, which assign 
rewards and punishments to men, whose actions are in no re- 
spect under the compulsion of necessity. We ought therefore 
to comfort ourselves with this reflection, that God, who sits on 
high, perceives everything, knows perfectly what is to happen ; 
and that the eternal presence of his knowledge, concurring with 
the future quality of our actions, engages him always to dis- 
pense rewards to the good, and punishments to the wicked. 
The confidence which, for this reason, we repose in God, can- 
not be vain or fruitless ; neither will the prayers we address to 
him be inefficacious, when they proceed from a heart which is 
pure and upright. Detest, then, and flee every vice ; cultivate 
and pursue every virtue ; exalt your mind to God, the only 
true hope ; and offer up your prayers with humility to his 
throne. If you are ingenuous, you must confess the strict 
obligation that you are under, to live agreeably to the rules 
of wisdom and probity, as you know that all your actions are 
performed under the eye of an all-discerning Judge. 



52 



INDEX. 



Actium, battle of, 
Adonis, lament for, 
Adversity often profitable, 
Advice, Horace's lines on, 
JEgos Potamos, the effects of its 

battle, 

JElian, 
iEneas at the court of Dido, 
escaping from the flames 

of Troy, 

-, his piety, JElian on, 



iEneid of Virgil, 
iEschines, 

. , Demosthenes' 



ad- 



500 
266 
612 
468 

605 
331 
434 

437 
331 
427 
241 

239 

84 

306 

105 



dress to, 
iEschylus, 

iEschylus' lines on Aristides, 
iEtna, Mount, Pindar's lines on, 
Africa, early circumnavigation of, 149 
Agamemnon of iEschylus, 86 

Age, advantages of, by Cicero, 388 

■ aping youth, 329 

Agesilaus, by Xenophon, 167 

Agricola, Tacitus' character of, 577 
Akenside's lines on Alcseus, 66 

Anacreon, 74 

, Sappho, 122 

Alcaeus, 66 
Alcestis of Euripides, scene from, 139 
, lines from a chorus in 

the, 142 
Alcibiades and Socrates, 332 
Alexander, Arrian's character of, 314 
and Philip, by Aulus 

Gellius, 602 

Alexander's treatment of Darius' 

family, 292 

Alphseus and Arethusa, by Mos- 

chus, 277 

Ames, Fisher, his great speech, 230 
Amores of Ovid, 484 

Anacreon, 74 

Anabasis, by Xenophon, 166 

Andria of Terence, 357, 358 



Animals and their young, by Lu- 
cretius, 369 
Anthon's, Prof. , edition of Horace, 456 
Antigone of Sophocles, 128, 130 
Antipater's lines on Sappho, 122 
Apollonius Rhodius, 271 
Apothegms of Solon, 69 
Archilochus, 62 
Argo, sailing of, by Pindar, 104 
Argonauts, expedition of, 271 
Argument of the Iliad, by Pope, 33 
Aristides, 306 
, Nepos' character of, 371 



Aristius Fuscus, Horace's ode to, 466 
Aristophanes, 176 

Aristotle, 216 

Arnold's, Dr. Thos., remarks on 

Livy, 472 

Arrian, 312 

Ars Amatoria of Ovid, 485 

Artabanus' conversation with 

Xerxes, 150 

Athenians, early, described, 235 

their public spirit, 240 



Athens after the battle of JEgos 
Potamos, 605 

constitution of, by Solon, 70 

— — — plague at, 160 



Athens' superiority over rest of 

Greece, 213 

Attalus, the "Pretty," 561 

Augustus Caesar, Vellerius' re- 
marks on, 500 
Augustus, his usurpation, 547 
Aulularia, by Plautus, 352 
Aulus Gellius, 598 
Avarice, a foe to learning, 339 

Juvenal's picture of, 593 

■ and prodigality, 220 



Babe, new-born, by Lucretius, 369 

Babylon, capture of, by Cyrus, 167 

Bad couple, 565 

Batrachomyomachia of Homer, 29 



616 



INDEX. 



Baucis and Philemon, by Swift, 494 

Beard, Lucian on the, 329 

Beauty, Akenside's lines on, 190 

the fading, the enduring, 

Ovid, 486 

the perfect, by Plato, 191 

Bees, their employments, 433 
Benevolence, Pindar's lines on, 106 
never lost, by Mar- 
tial, 563 

true, 302 

Bias, of Priene, 72 

Biographies of Plutarch, 305 

Biography, its uses, by Tacitus, 575 

Bion, 266 

Moschus' monody on, 277 

" Birds" of Aristophanes, 186 
Boethius, 608 
Bceotia, the land of frogs, re- 
deemed, 303 
Brazen age, by Ovid, 493 
Bride, epitaph on, by Meleager, 287 
Britain, people and customs of, 415 
Browne's picture of Roman man- 
ners, 588 

— — remarks on Plato, 189 

remarks on Thucydides, 155 

Byron, Lord, lines on Greece, 204 



Byron's lines on Orestes, 
on Sappho, 



122 



Buckminster's translation of Me- 
leager, 288 
Bulwer, remarks of, on Herodotus, 146 
Burke, Edmund, one of his 
speeches, 230 

Caesar, Caius Julius, 403 

Caesar and Pompey, Lucan's lines 

on, 521 

Callimachus, 263 

Cannae, battle of, by Florus, 568 

Captives, the, by Plautus, 345 

Caractacus, Suetonius' character 

of, 549 

Care, cure for 74 

Carrier pigeon, by Anacreon, 77 

Carter, Mrs. Elizabeth, her Epic- 

tetus, 295 

Cary's Pindar, 103 

Catiline, Cicero's invective 

against, 384 

Sallust's character of, 420 

Catiline's conspiracy, by Sallust, 417 

, Elorus on, 570 

expulsion from Rome, 385 

Cato, Lucan's character of, 525 

Cato's speech on the Catiline 

conspirators, 422 



Catullus, 412 

Catullus' verses to himself, 414 

Cerberus, Hesiod's description of, 60 
Change of place no change of 

mind, 514 

Chariot-race, Sophocles' descrip- 
tion of, 132 
Chatham, Lord, one of his 

speeches, 230 

Children, training of, 594 

Chilo, of Lacedaamon, 70 

Chlo*e, Martial's lines to, 562 

Choice of Hercules, by Xenophon, 172 
Christians, their persecutions by 

Trajan, 543 

Cicero, Marcus Tullius, 377 

, character of, by Velleius, 500 

and Demosthenes, by Lon- 

ginus, 337 

compared with Demos- 
thenes, 310 

, lines to, by Catullus, 415 

, Suetonius' character of, 546 

Cimon, Nepos' character of, 373 

Cities, in what their excellence 

lies, 301 

City and country, Martial's lines 

on, 567 

Claudia, Statius' lines to his wife, 555 

Claudius Nero, joy at his victory, 477 

Cleanthes, 261 

Cleobulus, of Lindus, 72 

Cleveland, C. D., his edition of 

Theophrastus, 247 

Cleveland's Grecian Antiquities, 251 
Clodia, the lady-love of Catullus, 413 
" Clouds" of Aristophanes, 178 

Clough's edition of Plutarch, 306 

Cnemon and Damnippus, dia- 
logue, 321 
Coleridge, Henry Nelson, on Ho- 
mer, 27 
Comedy, new and old, in Athens, 250 
Competency, Juvenal's lines on, 593 
Confidence in God, 613 
Conscience, Horace's lines on, 467 

, Juvenal's lines on, 593 

Conservatives, their character, 110 
Consolatione Philosophiae, 609 

Content, Tibullus' lines on, 498 

Contentment an impregnable fort- 
ress, 302 
Contrast, the, by Moschus, 275 
Convivial, by Alcaaus, 67 
Cornelius Nepos, 371 
Council of the Gods, 37 
Country and city, Martial's lines 
on, 567 



INDEX. 



61? 



Country and city life, Horace's 
lines on, 468 

, love of, 158 

Couple, a bad, 565 

Cowper's remarks on an ode of 
Horace, 462 

translation of Horace, 462 

Crispus, Caius Salustius, 416 
Croesus, Pluto, etc., dialogue be- 
tween, 318 
Crocodile, Herodotus' descrip- 
tion of the, • 148 
Crown, Demosthenes' oration on 

the, 238 

Cupid and the bee, Anacreon, 76 

the fowler, Bion's, 270 

, sale of, by Meleager, 286 

Curiatii and Horatii, battle of, 473 
Curtius, Quintus, 556 

Cynegeticus, by Xenophon, 167 

Cynic philosophers, 325 

Cynthia in the country, by Ti- 
bullus, 452 

, Propertius' lines to, 450 

Cyropaedia, by Xenophon, 167 
Cyrus, death of, by Xenophon, 170 
the Great, his tomb, 313 

Danae, lamentation of, 81 

Darius and Alexander, Curtius' 

account of, 556 

Death, an honorable, desired, 209 

, its certainty, by Simonides, 83 

no evil, by Cicero, 396 

, remembrance after, 70 

Deity, the goodness of, Socrates' 

remarks on, 113 

Delia, lines to, by Tibullus, 445 

Demosthenes, 228 
compared with 

Cicero, 310 
i denounced by 

iEschines, 244 

Detraction, Horace's lines on, 467 
Detractor, lines to a, by Martial, 563 
Dicaeogenes, estate of, by Isseus, 215 
Dido's passion for iEneas, 440 

Dionysius Halicarnassus, 289 

Diodorus Siculus, 291 

Distaff, lines on, by Theocritus, 260 
Diseases, their features and 

forms, 530 

Doddridge, Dr., lines on life, 82 

Drunkenness, Pliny on, 534 

Druids, the, by Caesar, 405 



Earth, its nature, by Pliny, 
Eclogues of Virgil, 



528 
426 

52* 



Egyptian dog, iElian's account of, 331 

Elegy on Lesbia's sparrow, 413 

Elephants, battle between, 283 
Eloquence, power of, by Iso- 

crates, 212 

Enchiridion of Epictetus, 295 

End of life to be considered, 299 

Enfield's History of Philosophy, 191 

Envy, nature of, by Menander , 252 
Epaminondas, Nepos' character 

of, 375 

Epictetus, 294 

Epistolae Heroidum of Ovid, 484 

Equality of the human race, 511 

Equanimity, by Archilochus, 62 

Erotion. Martial's lines to, 566 

Estimation, true standard of, 299 

Euripides, 137 

Europa seized by Jupiter, 488 

Eurymedon, epitaph on, 259 

Evening star, Bion's hymn to, 269 

Exile of Ovid, 487 

Fabius, Florus' character of, 569 

Faithless Lesbia, Catullus to, 415 

Falsehood, Homer on, 39 

Fame, its character, . 486 

, literary, value of, 563 

Fastorum of Ovid, 485 

Feast, the true, 300 

Fell, Dr. John, lines on, 561 
Felton, President C. C, on Homer, 28 

Fenton's lines on Tibullus, 453 

Flaccus, Quintus Hora- 

tius, 453 

Flattery, Theophrastus on, 248 

Florus, 567 

Fortune as opposed to character, 300 

, the terms of, 63 

Four best things, by Simonides, 83 

Francis' lines on Pindar, 101 

Freedom, Homer's definition of, 469 

and slavery, 300 

French infidels, how made, 366 

Friendship, Cicero's treatise on, 383 

, offices of, by Cicero, 392 

, true test of, 302 

Friend, the necessity of a, 391 
Future life, Cicero's views of, 390 
state, Socrates' views of, 193 



Galgacus' address to his soldiers, 

Tacitus, 576 

Garland, the, by Meleager, 285 

Gauls, account of, by Caesar, 406 

Georgics of Virgil, 427 

German, Caesar's account of, ' 408 
German tribes, Tacitus' account of, 573 



618 



INDEX. 



Giants, battle of, by Hesiod, 
Gladstone's, W. E., Studies on 

Homer, 
God all-seeing, 

, confidence in, 

ordains all things (Seneca), 

Golden age, by Ovid, 

■ Tibullus' lines on, 

Gold, Anacreon's lines on, 
Good nature, power of (Ovid), 
Goodness and wickedness, their 

consequences, 
Gorgias of Plato, 
Graces, the gifts of, 
Grasshopper, Anacreon's lines 

on the, 
Gray's bard, 

imitation of Pindar, 

Great men, their humble origin, 

, the truly, by Martial, 

Greatness, true, 

Grote on the religious temper of 

Herodotus, 
Guilty, future punishments of, 



GO 



302 
613 
512 

492 

446 

75 

490 

94 
199 
2S5 

75 
102 

105 
599 
562 
303 

152 
442 



Habitation, the best, 299 

Hannibal's speech to Scipio, 481 

Happiness founded on wisdom, 508 

not in fortune, 609 j 

not in power or honors, 610 

, public, 221 

, true, 300 

, true, by Solon, 70 

Harmony of the stars, 527 

Heautontimoroumenos, by Te- 
rence, 357 
Hector and Andromache, parting 

of, 34 

Hecuba of Euripides, lines from 

the, 142 

Helen, description of, by J^schy- 

lus, 91 

, lament for loss of, p 91 

, meaning of her name, 90 

Helen's lamentation over Hector, 40 
Hellenicaa, by Xenophon, 166 

Hercules, choice of, by Xenophon, 172 

, lines on, by Theocritus, 254 

■ , the infant, by Pindar, 106 

Herodotus, 145 

Hero, the, by Tyrtaeus, 65 

Herrick's lines on a maid, 287 

Hesiod, 57 

Hiero, by Xenophon, 167 

"Higher Law," Sophocles on 

the, 131 

Hipparchicus, by Xenophon, 167 

History, its teachings, 282 



Homer, 25 

Homeric ballads, by Dr. Maginn, 51 
Honey stealer, 259 

Honors bestowed by Athenians, 242 
Honorable death to be preferred, 209 
Honorable, the, what is it? 224 

Hope, its universality, 302 

Horace, 453 

Horace's lines on Pindar, 101 

— : lines on Tibullus, 444 

Horatii and Curiatii, battle of, 473 
Hospitality, Homer's laws of, 41 

Humanitas, its meaning, 603 

Humanity, Terence on, 363 

Human life, by Sophocles, 134 

nature, Persius' lines- on, 504 

wishes, vanity of, 589 

Hunting and reading, 538 

" I do not love thee," by Martial, 561 
Iliad and Odyssey of Homer, 29 

Immortality of the soul, Seneca's 

remarks on, 516 

Infants, their treatment at Rome, 529 
Infidelity and slavery, 366 

Institutiones Oratoriae, 579 

Iphigenia, sacrifice of, ' 88 

Iron age, by Ovid, 493 

Esseus, 214 

Isaiah and the Pollio of Virgil, 429 

Isocrates, 210 

Italy, praises of, by Virgil, 431 

Jameson's, Mrs., remarks on An- 
tigone and Cordelia, 129 

Jason and Medea, interview be- 
tween, 271 

Johnson's, Dr., lines on "To- 
morrow," 564 

Jones', Sir Wm., imitation of 
Alcaeus, 6S 

Joy in Rome on the victory of 
Claudius, 477 

Julius Caesar, Pliny's character 
of, 531 

Julius Martialis, Martial's lines 
to, 565 

Jupiter, Cleanthes' hymn to, 261 

Justice, an omnipotent shield, 302 
Justin, 604 

Juvenal, 588 

, Suetonius' remarks 

on, 550 

Kindness, its power, 301 

Know thyself, Juvenal on, 592 

and others, 252 

Knowledge, innate love of, 394 



INDEX. 



619 



Legacy, the best, for children, 303 
Legitimate objects of wishes, 594 

Lesbia, Catullus' lines to. 414 

Lesbia's sparrow, by Catullus, 413 
Lewis, Tayler, his edition of Plato, 191 
Liberality, Aristotle's remarks on, 219 
Liberty, true, by Euripides, 143 

Licinius, Horace's ode to, 461 

Life, Lucian on, 329 

, by Menander, 251 

, its uncertainty, by Simonides, 82 

Literary fame, Sappho's lines on, 126 



Livius, Titus, 
Long-inus, 

on Homer, 



471 
333 

27 
298 
276 
451 



Losses only restorations 
Love a fugitive, by Moschus, 

, effigy of, by Tibullus, 

, first, Mneson, by Euripides, 143 

, Sappho's lines on, 

, universal, by Lucretius, 

Lover of mankind, 
Lover's message, by Meleager, 
leap, Ovid's lines on, 



Lucan, 

Lucian, 

Lucretius, 

Luxury the bane of nations, 

a foe to genius, 

, Juvenal's lines on, 

Lyceum, Aristotle, 
Lydia, Horace's odes to, 459, 
Lyre, Horace's address to, 
Lysias, 



Mackenzie, Dr. Shelton, on the 

Homeric ballads, 51 

Maginn, Dr. William, on Homer, 29 
Man, as self-dependent, 296 

, his nature, by Pliny, 529 

the race of, Homer, 37 

Man's inhumanity to man, 531 

377 



126 
370 
299 
287 
488 
519 
317 
365 
524 
339 
593 
216 
461 
463 
204 



Marcus Tullius Cicero, 



Margites, poem attributed to 

Homer, 29 

Maro, Publius Virgilius, 425 
Martial, 560 

Maxims of Chilo, 71 

of Thales, 69 

Mecsenas, the friend of Horace, 456 

, Horace's ode to, 457 

Medea of Euripides, opening of, 143 
and Jason, interview be- 
tween, 271 
Meeting of JEneas and Dido in 

the infernal regions, 441 

Meleager, 285 

Melesigenes, thence Homer called, 25 



Melmoth, his notes on Cicero, 391 
Memorabilia of Socrates, Xeno- 

phon, 167 

Menander, 250 

Menander copied by Plautus, 343 
Menippus and Mercury, dialogue, 320 

and Sardanapalus, 318 

Men remarkable for wisdom, 532 

Mental Power vs. Physical, 211 

Merchant of Venice, lines from, 329 
Mercury's mission to the King 

of Thebes, 552 

Metamorphoses of Ovid, 485 

Middleton's Life of Cicero, 381, 403 
Military valor, by Tyrtaeus, 64 

Milton's imitation of the Alcestis, 138 

lines on Aristotle, 216 

lines on Demosthenes, 228 

lines on Lycidas, 257 

lines on Plato, 188 

lines on Socrates, 109, 179 

translation of Horace, 459 

Mind is its own place (Terence), 364 
Minerva arming herself for battle, 34 

, bath of, by Callimachus, 264 

Miser, Horace's ode to a, 464 

, play of the, by Plautus, 352 

Mitchell's remarks on Socrates, 111 

Xenophon, 165 

Mob, character of a, 301 

Monody on Bion, by Moschus, 277 
Moral sentences of Periander, 73 

Moschus, 275 

Mourner, the false and the true, 561 
Munford's, William, translation 

of Homer, 33 

Music and beauty, by Meleager, 288 

, power of, by Pindar, 104 

, of the spheres, 527 

Neaera, lines to, by Tibullus, 447 

Nero's treatment of Seneca, 507 

Night, a tempestuous, 553 

Night-scene, by Homer, 38 

Novum Organon of Lord Bacon, 218 

Numa, character of, 290 

Odyssey of Homer, 31 

CEconomicus, by Xenophon, 167 . 

GMipus, his history, 85 

Tyrannus, by Sophocles,. 

134, 135 
Oratory, its usefulness discussed, 584 
Orator, what is essential to the 

true, 582 

Orestes murdering his mother, 92 

Organon of Aristotle, 218 

Ostracism of Aristides, 308 



620 



INDEX. 



Ovid. 484 

Ovid's letter on his own exile, 487 

prediction of his own 

fame, 497 

Pagan ceremonies, ridicule of, 251 
Pandora's box, by Hesiod, 58 

Papirius Paetus, Cicero's letter to, 401 
Parabasis, from the "Birds" of 

Aristophanes, 186 

Peace, blessings of, by Aristo- 
phanes, 187 
Penelope, introduction of, 51 

, her last appearance, 54 

Penn's, Granville, translation of 
Virgil's Pollio, 429 

Granville, argument of 

Iliad, 30 

Persia, war against, 213 

Periander, of Corinth, 73 

Peripatetic Philosophers, 216 

Peroration of a discourse, 585 

Persius, 502 

Pharsalia, battle of, 409 

Philanthropist the only virtuous 

man, 299 

Philip and Alexander, by Aulus 

Gellius, 602 

. , Justin on, 605 

, Demosthenes on, 233 

. and the Athenians, 231 

Philosopher answers a coxcomb, 603 
Philosophers, sale of, by Lucian, 321 
Philosophy, Lucretius in praise of, 367 
Phyllis, Horace's ode to, 465 

Physical Power vs. Mental, 211 

Physician, the, his daily business, 330 

Pindar, 101 

Pittacus, of Mitylene, 71 

Pisistratus collects the books of 

Homer, 27 

Plague at Athens, 160 

Plato, 188 

Plato's humility, iElian on, 332 

lines on Aristophanes, 176 

sublimity, Longinus on, 338 

Plautus, 343 

Pleasant things, what are they ? 225 
Pleasures of rural life, 538 

Pliny the Elder, 526 

and Tacitus compared, 

by Browne, 572 

Pliny the Young-er, 535 

Plutarch, 303 

Pococke's view of Herodotus, 147 

Poetry, origin of, 222 

, two kinds of, 223 

Pollio, Asinius, 429 



Pollio of Virgil, 
Polyhius, 

Pompey, character of, by Vel- 

leius, 
and Caesar, Lucan's 



lines on, 

— , death of, by Lucan, 

Velleius, 



flight of, by Lucan, 

Pope's lines on Homer, 

Pindar, 

Socrates, 

Tibullus, 

Popular applause, its worth, 



by 



Persius 
Pot of Gold, Plautus' play of, 
Potter's remarks on Euripides, 
Poverty, honest, by Hesiod, 
Precepts of Pittacus, 
Priam begging for the body of 

Hector, 
Prior's lines on Pindar, 
Prodigality and avarice, 
Progress of poesy, by Gray, 
Prometheus bound, 
Prometheus' invocation, iEschy- 

lus, 
proud defiance of 



429 

280 

498 

521 

524 
499 
523 
25 
101 
109 
453 

506 

352 

138 

60 

71 

39 
101 
220 
105 

85 

95 



Jove 
Propertius, 

Property not ourselves, 299 

Propyhea, what it was, 237 

Protagoras, by what led to philo- 
sophy, 601 
Providence, retributions of, by 

Hesiod, 58 

Prudential maxims of Cleobulus, 73 
Ptolemy Philadelphus, 259 

Public happiness, foundation of, 221 
Pupils, their feelings towards 



their teacher, 
Pyrrha, Horace's ode to, 
Pyrrho on life and death, 
the sceptic, 



Pythagoras, his tenets, 



581 
458, 459 
302 
327 
322 



Justin's account of, 607 



Quint ilian, 579 

Quintus Curtius, 556 

Quintius Ovidius, Martial's lines 
to, 565 



Ramsay' 
Livy, 



Prof. , remarks on 

473 
remarks on Lucian, 520 

remarks on Quintilian, 579 

Rash judgments, Seneca's re- 
marks on, 510 



INDEX. 



621 



Rawlinson's edition of Herodo- 
tus, 148 
Readiness when summoned, 298 
Reading and hunting, 538 
Reason peculiar to man, 515 
Remedia Amoris of Ovid, 481 
Retirement and study recom- 
mended, 537 
Retribution, future, 103 
Riches no bar to care, 252 

, true, Seneca's remarks on, 513 

use of, Menander, 252 

Rich, those who are truly, 330 

Roman Republic, Sallust on, 418 

Romans, their early spirit, 569 

Rome, consternation in, in Se- 
cond Punic War, 476 

described by Tacitus, 575 

, its state, Lucan's lines on, 521 

Romeo and Juliet, lines from, 287 
Rose, the, by Anacreon, 79 

Rubicon, Caesar's passage of, 523 

Ruler, the qualifications of, So- 
crates on, 117 
Rumor, its character, 486 
Rural life, by Virgil, 432 
Ruskin's remarks on Aristopha- 
nes, 185 

Salamis, battle of, by iEschylus, 87 

■ , Lysias on, 205 

Sallust, 416 

Sanborn's, Prof., remarks on the 

Roman satirists, 455 

Sappho, 122 

Sappho's lines as quoted by Lon- 
ginus, 337 

Scaptesyle, the retreat of Thu- 
cydides, 154 

Scipio, Publius Cornelius, his 
speech in favor of invading 
Africa, 479 

Scythian ambassadors, Curtius' 
speech of, 557 

Self-examination, Persius' lines 

on, 504 

Seneca, 506 

Sententious wisdom of Bias, 72 

Seven against Thebes, 85 

Seven Wise Men of Greece, 68 

Sewall, W., remarks of, on Aris- 
tophanes, 177 

Seward, Wm. H., on the "High- 
er Law," 131 

Sheffield's lines on Homer, 25 

Shelley's translation of Plato, 191 

Showers of arrows and snow 
compared, 39 



Silver age, by Ovid, 
Simonides, 

Simmias' lines on Sophocles, 
Sin, retribution for, 
Slavery among the Romans, 



492 
80 
126 
93 
294 
dwarfs the intellect, by 
Longinus, 338 
, Homer's opinion of, 



Sleep, cave of, Ovid's descrip- 
tion, 490 

Statius' lines on, 554 

Slothful habits, Persius on, 503 

Smith, Philip, his remarks on So- 
phocles, 127 
Smyrna, the birthplace of Homer, 25 
Socrates, 109 

and Alcibiades, 332 

, death of, 193 

Socrates' defence, 119 
equanimity, iElian on, 332 



Solon as a poet, 
Solon, of Athens, 69 

Sophocles, 126 

Soul, immortality of, by Cicero, 389 
, its immortality, remarks of 

Seneca, 516 

Spenser's lines on the duty of 

labor, 82 

Sphinx, her riddle, 530 

Sprague, Charles, lines on Homer, 25 
— i ■ Homer 

and Virgil, 454 

lines on Pindar, 101 

Spring, lines on, by Meleager, 288 
, return of, Anacreon, 77 



State, what constitutes a? 
Statius, 551 

St. Cecilia's Day, by Dryden, 527 
Study, Seneca's remarks on, 513 
Sublime expressions, source of, 335 
1 what circum- 
stances produce, 336 
Success depends on one's self, 600 
Suetonius, 546 
Suffering, patience under, 62 
Sulpicia, Tibullus' lines to, 448 
Summer employments, by Pliny, 541 
Sumner, Charles, his great speech, 230 

on the "Higher 

Law," 131 



. George, on conservatism, 110 

Sun eclipsed, Pindar's lines on, 108 
Superiority of a man. what is it? 297 
Superstition, Theophrastus on, 249 
Suppliants, the, by iEschylus, 85 

Swift's lines on the Egyptian dog, 331 
Swimming, an essential exercise 
to the Romans, 399 



622 



INDEX. 



Sylla, his horrible proscriptions, 309 
Symposium, by Xen.ophon, 167 



Tacitus, 



571 



Talfourd, Thomas Noon, on Ho- 
mer, 26 
Teacher, choice of, by Quintilian, 580 



taught, by Bion. 



Temper, bad, by Menander, 
Ten thousand, retreat of, 

Terence, 
Terentia, Cicero's letter to, 
Thales, of Miletus, 
Themis tocles, 

Theocritus, 
Theogony of Hesiod, 

Theophrastus, 
Thesmophoria, the, 
Thirty tyrants, Lysias on, 
Thomson's lines on Homer, 
Socrates, 

Thucydides, 
conduct vindicated, 



269 
253 
164 
356 
400 

68 
307 
253 

57 
247 
177 
206 

25 
109 
153 
532 
256 
444 
539 
319 
564 
508 
594 
536 



Thyrsis and the goatherd, 

Tibullus, 
Time, changes made by, 
Tithonus, 

To-morrow, lines by Marshall, 
Tragedies of Seneca, ten, 
Training of children, 
Trajan, Pliny's panegyric on, 
Trajan's directions to Pliny about 

the Christians, 545 

Trebatius, Cicero's letter to, 398 

Tristium of Ovid, 485 

Triumvirates, first and second, 379 
Truth, its paramount importance, 302 

, what is it? 300 

Tullia, Cicero's letter to, 400 

Tusculanse Quaestiones, 383 

Tyler, Prof. W. S., remarks on 

Plato, 193 

Tyrtaeus, 63 



Ulysses, address to, in Homer, 

discovering himself to his 

father, 47 

in the cave of Polyphe- 
mus, 41 

Unfortunate neglected, 365 

Vale, description of, by Euripides, 142 

Vanity of human wishes, 589 

Velleius Paterculus, 498 



Venus, Sappho's hymn to, 123 

Verres, the praetor, denounced by 

Cicero, 386 

Vernal showers, by Lucretius, 
Vincent's Voyage of Nearchus, 

Virgil, 

Horace's ode to, 



Virgin's offering to Venus, 
Virtue, Simonides' lines on, 

the only nobility, 

to be sought for itself, 



Vow of love, by Meleager, 



368 
313 
425 
466 
263, 264 
82, 83 
511 
393 
286 



Wakefield's, Gilbert, edition of 

Homer, 32 

Waller's lines on love, 288 

War, consequences of, 157 

, hatefulness of, by Homer, 39 

, spoils of, by Alcseus, 67 

Warton's translation of Virgil, 428 
Wealth, its disposition, 227 

, true, Lucian, 329 

Webster, Daniel, his great speech, 230 
West's Pindar. 103 

When spring adorns the dewy 

scene, 
Wickedness of the age of Juve- 
nal, 
Wilkinson's edition of Herodo- 
tus, 
Winter employments, 

Hesiod's description of, 



78 
592 

148 

542 
59 
592 
594 
484 
299 
365 



Wisdom, value of, 
Wishes, their legitimate objects, 
Wolsey, his fall from power, 
Woman, her true adornment, 
Women, Terence's lines on, 
Woolsey, D. D., Rev. T. D., on 

Plato, 191 

Works and Days, by Hesiod, 57 

World ignorant of its best men. 540 
Worship acceptable to the Gods, 297 
Writing, Horace's directions for, 469 



>5 | Xenophon, 164 

j Xerxes reviews his troops at 



Abydos, 152 

Touth a, to his beloved, by Sap- 



pho, 



333 



Zenobia, Queen of the East, 125 

Zenophantes and Callidemides, 319 
Zodiac, the twelve signs of the, 370 



THE END 



^ua '07 







t-J 



